


In the Bunker

by these_dreams_go_on



Series: In the Bunker [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, Gen, In the bunker, Jasper will be happy again, Post Season 4, Slow Burn Bellarke, jasper alive because I said so, roan alive because fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 64,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/these_dreams_go_on/pseuds/these_dreams_go_on
Summary: Everyone is in the bunker, the death wave has hit and Skai-kru are trying to survive the next five years- or five days- while dealing with the consequences of Clarke and Jaha's actions.Octavia is trying to figure out how to be Commander, Kane is trying to figure out how to keep the peace, Clarke is trying to figure out her role in this new world, Bellamy is trying to keep her safe, the delinquents are trying to figure out how to live (while having fun) and Roan just wants to lead his people in peace.





	1. Bellamy Blake

**Author's Note:**

> While this is part of my In the Bunker series, the one-shots are comedic while this is very much not.

_Bellamy Blake_

Two hours.

We had closed the bunker doors and Praimfaya had hit two goddamn _hours_ ago.

All of us had gathered into the food hall, the area outside of O’s new office, anywhere where our people could set up the screens so we could watch the death wave destroy everything.

I hadn’t been able to look away but I couldn’t have missed the Grounders reactions.

My people were upset by the destruction but the Grounders were devastated, they had a connection to this planet, to their territories that we couldn’t even begin to fathom.

And they were watching it die right before their eyes.

I figured that was going to make people emotional and the second the screens died I started looking around for Clarke.

She’s short so she can be hard to spot in a crowd, but her blonde hair usually gives me an easy mark.

So, when I don’t see her, I start to worry.

Which is almost a Pavlovian response at this point.

And one that I’m not about to shake, even down in this relatively safe bunker.

There might not be wild animals to eat her, poisonous plants to kill her or jagged cliff edges for her to fall over but there’s a whole lot of Grounders, at least a few of whom knew that she’d planned on leaving them all out there to burn.

Not to mention, that it was only a matter of time before some Skai-kru look around and noted the similarities between the list she’d drawn up for the Ark and those that had been chosen to remain in the bunker.

She may not have been here for the final selection, but people were gonna get angry and look for someone to blame.

When that happened, I sure as hell planned to have me and my gun between them and her.

I make my way through the crowd, trying to move as unobtrusively as possible, people are still grieving or shocked and I’m not about to distract them from that process.

Not if it kept them stationary.

But even though I don’t break six ft and I’m wearing plain clothes in a sea of Skai-kru, I feel eyes on me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Octavia standing on the stairs, watching me curiously but I give a quick shake of my head, knowing that she probably wouldn’t call me out with a potential mob around, but I still don’t want to run the risk of her asking me what I was up to.

Nobody needs to be reminded of Clarke’s existence right now.

O gives me a withering look and turns to Indra, and I resume my search, only to find my next audience.

An audience of two, pressed into a corner, pointedly trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Like me.

“What the _hell_?” I hiss as I make my way over to them, “How’d you two get in here?”

Murphy gives me his sarcastic smile, “Nice to see you too, Bellamy.” He drawls and I glare.

 “John,” Emori chastises before turning to me, “Something’s wrong.” she says and I feel the tension settle on my shoulders.

If they’d snuck into the bunker…Skai-kru would get blamed for this and was it too much to ask for one day, just one freaking day before everything went to hell?

“How’d you two end up down here?” I demand, keeping my voice low but making it clear as day that I was not in the mood for bullshit.

Murphy scratches his nose, “That’s the problem, Azgeda had spots for us.”

What now?

“Not just us,” Emori continued, “They had one hundred spots but only ninety-three came down.”

I give myself a moment to process this, these clans had been forced to decimate their population, until only a handful of their number could survive.

So, why the hell was Ice Nation giving away their places in the bunker…

Clarke.

I don’t know what exactly this had to do with her but I needed to find out.

Whatever she was planning, I needed to know what it was.

_Now._

I hadn’t had time to go over the bunker schematics yet, or walk the halls to try and figure out where everything was, I’d just been to the med bay to drop Raven off to Abby and the food hall to grab a quick meal to keep myself upright.

I didn’t even know if I had an assigned bed yet.

Or if I even had a change of clothes for tomorrow.

That was a problem I could deal with later.

At least I knew where the turbine room was.

But I don’t make it that far, instead, I barely make it to the food hall when I find Jaha.

Held at gun point.

By a trio of Azgeda warriors.

I was outgunned but they’d already spotted me so I take out my handgun, flicking off the safety and trying to weigh up my options.

They were carrying rifles but I doubted they knew how to use them, the myth the Mountain Men had spread still held some sway, besides most of the Grounders considered guns lazy and for weak warriors.

This meant I was probably the best shot out of all of them.

Let’s hope I didn’t have to test that theory. 

“I don’t know what this is,” I begin, trying to keep my voice calm and in control, “But put those weapons down and we can talk about this.”

Jaha opens his mouth but a knife is held to his throat and honestly, after everything he’s pulled over the last six months, my sympathies are with the Azgeda on that one.

One of them turns to me and I struggle to remember if I’d met them before, they weren’t wearing war paint which made the situation a little more difficult but he’s using the rifle to gesture at me instead of threatening me.

“Ai get in dison” (I know this one) he growls, “Wanheda’s fayogon” (Wanheda’s fire-arm)

I’ve been called worse.

“Chit yu gaf?” (What do you want) I respond, trying to remember enough Trigedasleng to turn this situation around. 

“Teik in sis…au.” (Let me help you)

Something hard prods me in the back, cold even through my shirt and a hand grips my shoulder,

“Don’t worry,” a voice whispers in my ear, “You will.”

The pain of a shock-baton is jarring, especially when it’s not used properly.

My teeth snap together as my jaw tenses and my knees lock and then I’m hitting the ground with nothing to break my fall but my shoulder.

* * *

 

The situation isn’t any better when I wake up, regaining consciousness slowly as my brain keeps opting for the merciful relief of oblivion.

My vision is blurred, my head is pounding and I experience a moment of violent vertigo as my body tries to figure out what position it’s in.

Vertical.

With my hands held above my head by rope.

I sniff and run my tongue around my dry mouth, glad that I can’t taste blood.

It means I didn’t bite through my tongue this time.

Guessing that it’s probably useless, I still try pulling my arms down but all I do is rub the rope painfully against my wrists. They were still recovering from my time in the turbine room.

Which, if the colours around me are any indication, is not where I am right now.

Great, so the bunker has more than one place to hold someone prisoner.

Could have gone at least a week before finding that out.

At least my feet are touching the floor and I’m not feeling any more injuries than I had prior to my kidnapping. I tilt my head back and blink my eyes a few times, trying to get my vision clear so I could see more than a foot in front of me.

It comes back slowly, so it takes me a while to realize that the blur in the corner is a person.

It helps when they start speaking, “Good, you’re awake this time,” they chuckle, “I was beginning to worry.”

“Echo,” I manage to croak her name around my dry throat, “I thought Roan banished you.”

Echo stalks towards me, glaring and I make sure to maintain eye contact, even though I can see her fingering her dagger in my peripheral vision.

“Mind telling me what I did?” I ask, swallowing and shifting my feet slightly.

Echo steps back, “You didn’t do anything,” she tells me, “You’re a hostage.”

Great.

What had Clarke done now?

Still, the longer she and I are talking, the better chance I have of walking out of this place alive.

“Whatever you want,” I begin, trying to sound reasonable even as my head is killing me and my hands are tingling from blood loss,

“This probably isn’t the best way to go about it.”

Echo snorts and tilts her head, contemplating me, “Do you even know what she’s done this time?”

No.

And no point guessing who she is either.

But if they’ve taken me, it means that they don’t have Clarke, that she’s safe.

That’s all I need to know and I can go from there.

I just have to keep Echo talking.

“Tell me,” I call as she turns away and paces a few steps, “Please.” I add and she pivots back to me, stalking forward again and not stopping until there’s barely a foot between us.

“My King is alive,” she announces, a proud, zealous light in her eyes and my stomach churns as I wonder if Praimfaya caused Echo to go insane.

“That’s not possible,” I say before I can even think to stop myself, “The Conclave…my sister was the winner.”

Echo nods, running her tongue along her teeth, “When we went for his body…the bodies of the fallen were left where they had died, my king should have been in the fountain, but he wasn’t there. Then Jaha told us that Clarke had brought him down here, into this…place.”

She glares at the pipes in the ceiling and the vents already pushing cold, recycled air.

“Wanheda pulled Roan back from death.” she finishes, and in my mind, I’m already scrambling over the implications.

If Roan was alive, then O hadn’t won the Conclave.

This meant she either wasn’t the new Commander, or she was but people could and would challenge her.

And Ogeda, the one clan, would mean nothing.

One thousand, two hundred people in this bunker, and the potential for them all to turn on each other in the blink of an eye.

_Clarke._

“So why am I here?” I demand, “If Roan’s alive, why do you need me hostage?”

Echo grits her teeth, “Wanheda refused to tell us where she had hidden him,” she admits,

“She said she would not do so until the Fleim-keipa promised to uphold the results of the Conclave.”

Which were now null and void.

But at least Clarke had realized that Octavia was the best chance we all had at living together, she had united the clans in a way that no-one else could have managed.

And as long as Roan were alive, if he were alive and this wasn’t some weird scheme on Clarke's part, I would live too.   

“You’re going to trade me for your king.” I guess, wanting to be absolutely sure of the terms.

My life for Roan’s.

My life at the risk of Octavia losing her position.

My life at the risk of humanity’s destruction.

“Clarke won’t take that deal,” I bluff, “She’ll kill Roan if need be.”

That’s only a half-lie, I know Clarke cared about Roan, and they had an understanding between them, but that had gone to hell when she’d tried to ascend as the next Commander and I don’t think she would hesitate to kill him.

“She will,” Echo murmurs, reaching up to put her hand to my face and flinch before figuring out that she’s not planning to hurt me,

“Wanheda was willing to kill all but fifty of her people to see you safe, she’ll release Roan if it means your life.”

_Fifty people?!_

“There’s a difference between a few hundred people and twelve hundred.” I point out, and Echo takes her hand off my face, dropping it to my shoulder,

“Do you question Wanheda’s heart or your worth?”

“Both.” I tell her, shifting again as my legs start protesting and I figure out I’ve only got a few centimetres in any direction for movement. 

Echo smirks and steps even closer, giving me a faint sense of unease, even past the migraine forming in my head.

“Then you are a fool.” She says and before I can prove one of us right by arguing that statement, she’s lurching forward and kissing me.

She’s _kissing_ me.

And when I can wrap my brain around that, I try to pull back but her hand is on the back of my head, her fingers in my hair and holding it in place.

Her lips are pressing hard against mine and I try to turn my face to the side, making her pull away. Her lips are red and her eyes are dangerous, I try to step back but the rope stops me and Echo tugs my hair once, painfully, causing me to wince before her hands are on my hips.

“ _No._ ” she murmurs and I know an order when I hear one, and her smile has me thinking about crocodiles on the banks of the Nile, creatures that I’d used to create games with Octavia.

Smile and be as quiet as a crocodile.

She kisses me again, her lips bruising mine and her hands slide up, her first two fingers reaching under my shirt and her nails scratching my skin.

I think this is supposed to be a warning and one I’ll have to heed. 

I force myself to unclench my teeth and she pushes her tongue into my mouth, while I close my eyes and try to count to thirty.

My brain keeps freezing at ten until she releases me so she can catch her breath. I open my eyes and hope my disgust isn’t showing.

Her hands are still on my waist, I can feel her nails scoring four lines into my flesh and I tense when she digs them into my skin.

She leans in to kiss me again but a crash surprises us both, the sound of metal on metal and objects falling.

She releases me and darts to the wall where she’d left my handgun and the rifle.

She turns back to me, the rifle aimed at my head and I feel a moment of panic,

“Wait,” I stammer, “Echo…don’t do this!”

But she’s not looking at me and I realize that the door to the room must be behind me.

I twist my body to try and see who is coming in, hoping like hell Clarke hadn’t decided to come for me herself.

Instead, when the door opens, I see Roan coming into the makeshift prison.

Or to be more precise, I see what’s _left_ of Roan.

He’s as pale as the lime they use as paint, he’s wrapped in bandages and his face has been scarred by the acid rain. He is moving slowly, inching forward with his hand nursing one of the longest white bandages over his stomach,

“Echo,” his voice is barely audible but he sounds pissed as all hell.

“What are you doing?”

Echo tosses the rifle to the floor and I flinch but either the safety’s on or we’re all extremely lucky because it doesn’t fire.

“My king…” she begins, “When Wanheda refused to release you…”

“I am not your king,” Roan growls, reaching my side and glancing at me as if I’m nothing more than an interesting tree.

“I banished you and you do not have the right to act in my name.”

He stops, swaying a little on his feet and I can smell his sweat over the antiseptic used to clean his superficial wounds.

Echo is bowing her head but still trying to make her case,

“Wanheda was going to kill you,” she argues, “I couldn’t let…”

“Neither of us should have lived to see the inside of this bunker,” Roan interrupts, “We’ve both been granted reprieves neither of us deserve.”

He looks around and seems confused and I’m wondering how exactly Clarke got him down here. He looks as though he can barely stand, and if Echo challenged him to a fight right now, he’d be screwed.

There’s a commotion at the door and Azgeda warriors enter, staring at Roan in clear disbelief before bowing their heads and he turns to them,

“Tell Skai-kru to enter,” he orders, “And cut him down.”

I hold my breath, managing a quick thank-you as one warrior stomps forward, takes out a dagger and slices through the rope, leaving my arms free to drop down of their own accord.

The sensation of blood returning to your hands after an hour or so being held upright is painful, and I stagger to the far wall, sinking down as the feeling returns.

My vision is blurring again and I close my eyes, willing myself to stay conscious until I knew for a fact I was out of danger.

Just because Roan had supposedly come to my rescue didn’t mean squat.

If he decided to turn around and betray us, I wanted to be able to fight as I was taken hostage again.

Or struggle at least. I’m not sure I could manage anything more than that.

I’m hearing someone call my name and I look up just as Kane begins crouching down, putting a hand on my shoulder for balance, “You okay?” he asks, quietly and I nod,

“Give me a minute.”

He grins, patting my shoulder and I look past him to see Echo being led away in cuffs.

“You gonna float her?” I ask, my voice harsh and Kane glances at me in surprise,

“We haven’t decided yet,” he admits, “But Roan will choose the method of trial.”

I shake my head, “She’s not Azgeda anymore, she was banished.”

Kane sighs, “We’ll discuss this later.”

I know that tone and in spite of everything, I’ll be damned if Skai-kru turns this bunker into another Ark.

So, I press my shoulders into the wall and begin pushing myself up with my legs, which are shaking with exertion but don’t give way, so I keep going until I’m upright.

“Octavia is Commander,” I manage to say, swallowing as I feel bile rise in my throat,

“She should decide the laws.”

Kane tilts his head, looking at me curiously and is about to open his mouth when Murphy comes into the room,

“You look terrible,” he announces loudly, coming over to me, “No offense.”

He has everyone’s attention and jerks his head, “Abby wants you in the med bay,” he explains, “Can you walk that far or…?”

I snort, “You gonna carry me?” I demand, looking down at him and he shrugs, “If I have to choose between you or the King over there…”

Roan raises his eyebrows at the mention of his title, but doesn’t call Murphy out on his disrespect,

“Come on,” Murphy puts a hand on my back, “I’ll walk you.”

It’s a bad sign that I’m relying on Murphy to preserve my dignity, but I don’t know the way to the med bay and don’t have the energy to look right now, so I follow him out of the room, noting a smaller room with a kicked in door and overturned chair.

The hallway is filled with people, Skai-kru guards, Azgeda warriors and I see Indra standing there with her sword drawn.

She sheathes it when she sees me, “You are alive.” she notes, in the same voice she probably would have used to declare me dead.

She loved Octavia and didn’t give a single damn about me.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I sigh, my hands shaking as I try to clench them into fists, working to dispel the pins and needles faster.

I scan the crowd and still don’t see any blonde hair,

“Where’s Clarke?” I ask Murphy who clears his throat, “She’s uh…she’s under arrest.”

What?!

“ _Where?_ ” I demand, looking for some kind of map or reference so I can find my way to my sister’s office.

“In the turbine room,” he answers quickly, “She’s fine, but she and Jaha are locked up until we- or, you know- Octavia, can figure out if there are any more surprises down here.”

I grimace, if Jaha’s there Clarke will go silent, refusing to admit to anything beyond her own name and the necessity of her actions.

“I want to see her.”

Murphy shrugs, “Sure, once Abby checks you out.”

“Now,” I interrupt, “This isn’t a discussion.”

He rolls his eyes, “Fine, follow me.”

* * *

 

We lose the crowd quickly, and encounter very few people in the halls, which has me wondering if they’ve been ordered to their beds or if they’re gathering in their dorms and conspiring.

Murphy turns his head, looking around and then clears his throat, “So uh…there’s cameras in almost every room of this place,” he begins and I wonder why the hell he’s telling me this before I figure it out and feel the heat rising in my face,

“You don’t say.” I respond and he slips his hands into his pocket,

“Yeah…uh…password protected, and we’ll be taking most of them out, but we managed to get access to one shortly before Roan’s entry.”

Great.

“And?” I ask, challenging him but he only sighs,

“Listen man, I’m…uh…here if you need to talk.”

I swallow the bile in my throat and try to ignore how awkward this conversation is,

“It didn’t go that far,” I tell him, “What you saw is all that happened.”

He nods, “Okay, well, the footage was scrubbed anyway.”

I grin, “Thanks.”

We turn down a hall and I look around, “You sure this is the way to the turbine room?” I ask, vaguely remembering the lift and the noise of the engines and…

There definitely wasn’t a sign pointing to the med bay either.

“I lied,” Murphy tells me, unnecessarily as Jackson comes out the door, “Sorry man.”

I shake Jackson’s hand off me, “I’m going to see Clarke.” I explain and he looks over his shoulder nervously, “Uh...Abby said that you needed to be ex…”

I know the way to the entrance area from here, so I can get there and then figure out where the turbine room is.

I start walking but I barely make it three feet before Clarke’s mom is blocking my way.

And she doesn’t look much better than me, her eyes are filled with worry and her hair is messy, like she’s been running her fingers through it over and over again. But she looks determined as hell to stop me moving and I’m not eager to pick a fight with her.

“I’m going to get Clarke.” I tell her and she nods, her hands on her hips,

“I know,” she replies, “But you haven’t slept in two days, been attacked and held hostage. You can’t protect my daughter if you’re half-dead on your feet.”

She takes my arm and I look down at it to make sure, because I can barely feel her fingers on my skin, “Come on.” She urges, ushering me into the med bay.

There’s four beds in the first room, Raven is sitting cross-legged on one tapping away rapidly on a pad and smiles when she sees me,

“Bellamy Blake,” she drawls, “Always has to be the centre of attention.”

I smirk and settle on the bed next to her, “Says the girl who got so bored she gave herself a heart attack.”

Being horizontal and on a bed for the first time in recent memory feels really good.

Especially when various points in my back start cracking as the tension eases from my body, even the migraine feels a little less painful.

Abby starts with my wrists first, dabbing them with antiseptic and cleaning them before she wraps them in gauze, and she and Clarke resemble each other most when they’re tending to patients. They have the same analytical looks in their eyes and the mild concern as they examine the body, with the inner strength that can turn in a second into a willingness to restrain anyone stupid enough to leave their care before they’re good and ready to discharge them.

“As far as I can tell,” she begins, her voice so low and calm that I nearly don’t notice she’s talking,

“Clarke had a second list, a list of grounders that we would try to get into the bunker with us.”

I blink in surprise, tired but trying to figure out the logic behind that move.

“Anyway,” Abby continues, “That plan was shot but not all of Jaha’s men got the message, so Roan was brought down here and Clarke began treating him, but when you and I opened the door, she panicked, thinking that Roan being alive would endanger us all…so she had him hidden away, until…”

“She needed Azgeda to provide extra spots for those of us not on her list,” I interject, leaning my head back on the pillow and closing my eyes.

Monty and Harper, Jasper, Murphy and Emori.

Monty was a good choice, he was a brilliant engineer and had earned his right to survive in the worst way, but the other three…

Those were choices Clarke had made based on her emotions.

“She negotiated with them,” I guess, opening my eyes, “Told them to provide the spaces and she’d give them back their king.”

Abby nods and I start to push myself up, wincing as the light stabs my eyes, “I need to talk to her.”

I needed to figure out what was going on. Abby was giving me the basic but I needed Clarke to fill in the rest, to explain to me why she had done what she had.

I couldn’t start saving her until I knew the whole story.

* * *

 


	2. Octavia Blake

_Octavia kom Skai-kru_

 

Four freaking hours.

I’d been in command of this bunker for four freaking hours and already things were going to hell.

What kind of leader was I that I couldn’t even last a _day_? 

“You should execute them all,” Indra says, standing beside me as I glared down at the now empty entrance area below my office. I knew Indra had Trikru setting up a council room for me somewhere, but the office had leather chairs, a couch and the added benefit of blinds that I could close.

“Do it tonight,” she continues, her voice as hard as her words, “As a show of strength.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, wanting to be horrified by her suggestion but seeing the sense behind it.

“I’m not executing Clarke,” I tell her firmly, “Although, I suppose that means I’ll have to let Jaha live as well.”

Dammit.

“She threatens your rule,” Indra hisses, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword, eager to start killing in my name.  

“Taking Roan off the streets during the Conclave, saving his life? She gave him the chance to challenge you and take over this bunker!”

I hadn’t seen Roan since Luna had drowned him in the fountain, but considering everything that had happened to him before that, I had to assume he was weak right now.

Still, if he lived and got better? I was screwed.

I couldn’t win a fight against him, not in close quarters and evenly armed.

And this time, he would have to kill me.

I didn’t want to die.

But could I order his execution? Azgeda would rise up against me, and given the chance, perhaps some of the other clans would follow.

Besides, if I started my rule killing everyone who posed a threat to me, I’d either end up with a bunker full of corpses or deposed.

“I want to speak to Clarke,” I decide, pushing away from the railing and beginning to stride down the ramp, Indra quickly falling into step behind me and when we step into the hallway, I hear her call over one of Trikru.

“This is Sampson,” she tells me, introducing me to a man almost twice my height and living up to the myth. “He will guide you to the cells.”

Four hours in and we’d already retrofitted a prison?

Who was running this show?

Aside from me.

Sampson doesn’t say much, merely nodding respectfully and essentially forming a human shield as he stomps down the halls. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the elevator and hesitates in a way I’ve come to recognize.

I step around him and press the button down, my actions quick but he’ll note them and know what to do next time.

The same way Indra taught me.

When we step into the cage, I look for the buttons and notice that the levels are written instead of listed numerically.

Which could become a problem later.

“That one,” Sampson tells me, pointing to the third button on the right and I scan my eyes over the script before realizing that he was right.

“I was told.” He answers my question before I even had the chance to ask if he could read Gonasleng.

The cage descends quickly and silently, which is good because my fear of enclosed spaces still lingers. And it’s not helped that when the doors open I nearly collide with someone’s back.

He grunts as I bump into him and turns around, looking ready to knock me down before he sees the gold on my forehead and almost gracefully slides to the side, out of my way. 

Now to deal with the other thousand people that seemed to be filling the halls.

“Think we’re late to the party,” I mutter under my breath, scanning for familiar faces and noting a lot of Skai-kru down here, along with a few Azgeda warriors and some Trikru standing on benches, probably on Indra’s orders to keep watch of the situation.

People clear a path when they see me, which isn’t something I’m used to and Sampson barrels ahead for the few who don’t move in time.

Which is how Kane and Miller’s dad nearly run the risk of broken ribs.

“En’s ogud,” (It’s okay) I tell Sampson, who probably could have picked both men up and flung them into a wall.

Kane watches Sampson step aside with analytical eyes but the diplomatic trust that the warrior won’t attack him and he looks to me with a hint of the old pride he used to show whenever Bellamy or I did something noteworthy.

Now, it’s lined by the grief of leaving three hundred of his people out to die.

“I want to see her.” I tell him and he nods quickly, walking me to the door and pushing it open.

My brother had been held in this room, screaming in fury and trying to break the chains around his wrists. He’d have those scars for months.

And when I step inside, I almost feel the chill, the faintest hint of suffering and injury that every cell I’ve ever known carries with it.

One whiff, and I’m back on the Ark, spending my first ever night alone with the knowledge that my mom had been executed and I would never see Bellamy again.

So, when I see him standing in the centre of the room, filling it with his presence, I almost want to hug him.

Instead, I offer a wry smile, “You okay, big brother?” I ask and he smiles, holding up his wrists to show the newest bandages,

“I won’t be winning any beauty pageants.” he jokes and I give a quick tilt of my head,

“It’s fine,” I reply, “You were hardly winner material before.”

He chuckles and only then I turn my attention to Clarke, who had watched our exchange with the small frown of confusion that I’d seen in much greater quantities when we’d first landed.

Back when people hadn’t understood how siblings interacted because they’d never seen them before, when they couldn’t get how he and I would bicker over nothing one minute and be perfectly fine the next.

Clarke had been one of the first to figure out how we interacted and one of the first to accept that I wasn’t only Bellamy’s kid sister but my own person.

We’d become friends.

Right up to the point where she’d been willing to let me die when the bomb dropped on Ton dc.

Now, she was willing to leave me out in Polis to burn with the entire Grounder population.

Still, she doesn’t even flinch when I look at her, at the cuffs so loosely bound around her wrists that she could probably pull them off without much pain. She’s not even showing much emotion, just resignation and a little exhaustion.

“Care to explain?” I demand, trying to keep my voice calm but it’s hard.

I don’t know whether I’m pissed with Clarke or just exasperated that she’s pulled this kind of shit again.

She exhales through her nose, “There was a second list of Grounders we would try to save if the bunker couldn’t be shared,” She offers as a beginning, “I compiled it and Jaha gave the names to some of his men, and I guess in the confusion, one of them must have grabbed Roan by mistake.”

A second list of Grounders?

Who would have made that list?

Niylah I assume, who’d come in as part of Skai-kru, probably the healers that Clarke knew about, maybe Gaia, but I doubt that considering the lack of respect Clarke had for the religion.

“I was going to kill him,” she admits, glancing down momentarily in one of the few expressions of regret I’ve ever seen from her,

“When you became Commander and I figured Gaia wouldn’t accept the results of the conclave…but I just hadn’t figured out how to dispose of his body yet.”

His body.

Roan’s body.

I find myself remembering when I had last seen them together, after the Ark had been burnt and they had come quietly into the med bay when everyone else was asleep. Clarke had taken his hand, turning it palm up and silently treated some injury he’d had and then he’d returned the favour.

There had been trust there, possibly friendship.

And Clarke would have killed him.

“Incredible,” I manage through the bile in my throat, “Can you even wake up in the morning without thinking of six different ways to screw people over?”

“O.” Bellamy murmurs, reaching for me but I move my shoulder so he knows not to touch me.

“If I didn’t, we would never have survived this year,” Clarke answers, with only a tic in her cheek to betray whatever humanity she still had left, “I do what needs to be done.”

“And what about what’s _right_?” I snap, “What’s the point in trying to save the human race if doing so turns us into monsters?!”

She shrugs, “You’re the Commander now,” she tells me, “That’s your problem.”

I don’t know whether I want to slap her or shout at her, but I’m halfway through my step before Bellamy intercepts me, holding up his hands between us and even though I should have expected this, I still feel betrayed.

“Look,” he stammers quickly, “Let’s just…find a solution, okay?”

 _No_.

I won’t let Clarke decide what happens in this bunker.

“I’ll speak to Gaia,” I tell my brother, turning my shoulder to ignore Clarke, “See if there’s a way out of this that the Grounders will accept.”

He nods, “And Echo?” he asks, “We have to have a trial, make it fair and make it clear that we aren’t the Ark, we’re not going to float people for every small crime.”

“She kidnapped you!” Clarke points out, loudly, “And I was there in the security room, Bellamy, I saw…”

“I’m alive,” he argues, interrupting her and I pick up that whatever went down during the hostage situation that I wasn’t supposed to know about it.

“She’ll have a fair trial,” I rule and I see some of the tension leave my brother’s shoulders,

“They all will.”

Clarke’s head shoots up as I see the realization hit her, for the first time in a year, she was going to be held accountable for her crimes.

I turn on my heel, striding from the room and nearly making it to the door before Bellamy catches me,

“O,” he says, his hand on my shoulder and I can see the fluid from his injured wrists staining the bandages. “I know what Clarke did was wrong…”

“Understatement.” I point out and he drops his head,

“I gave Abby my word that we wouldn’t let anything happen to Clarke.” He tells me and I’m stuck trying to remember the last time he used ‘we’ as a reference to _us_.

“That’s your problem.” I say, echoing Clarke and this time, he lets me leave.

I make sure that nobody can see the pain on my face.

I don’t know what the hell my brother felt for Clarke. In the beginning, they’d clearly hated each other then suddenly they’d gone from enemies to co-operating and then Clarke running across the camp to throw herself into my brother’s arms and trying to shoot her way through a door to get to him.

And my brother had walked through an army of grounders to get to her and tried chasing her through a forest with blood pouring out of his leg.

I figured they were in love but Bellamy had chosen Gina and Clarke had loved Lexa and neither of them had shown the least bit of jealously or hurt.

Meanwhile, Lincoln had mentioned Luna once with a small smile and I’d imagined tearing her hair out by the roots.

Not to mention what I’d threatened to do to Trina when she’d flirted with him at Arkadia.

If I had to put a label to whatever this thing was between them, I’d say symbiotic, because they sure as hell forgot how to function when they were apart.

And because there are times when my own brother chooses her over me.

* * *

I don’t want to go to med bay, I don’t want to see Roan while Abby’s looking over him, while he’s hooked up to machines and weak.

Warriors don’t let themselves be seen like that.

I head to my office, and Indra doesn’t appear by my side on the way, which I have to assume means she heard about Gaia’s potential role in this and wanted to find out the truth.

Which made two of us.

The entrance way is mostly empty, with only one woman leaning against the wall, her tattoos covered by a long jacket and I eye her warily as I make my way to the office.

She doesn’t follow me or throw a weapon at my head so I take it as a win.

But when I step inside, I’m not alone.

Roan is sprawled in the armchair, his head tilted back and he opens one eye as I close the door behind me.

He reminds me of the lions from the videos Bellamy used to show me.

Except that his face has been ruined by the black rain and what parts weren’t scarred were pale as death.

“If you are going to die,” I tell him, “Don’t do it on that couch.”

He chuckles and begins easing himself up and I hear the sharp intakes of breath that it costs him,

“If my time comes, I’ll step outside.”

I don’t sit in the chair behind the desk, because what is a show of power on the Ark doesn’t translate well into Grounder culture. So, I lean against the desk and rest my forearm on the hilt of my sword,

“You’re alive.” I comment and he looks around,

“I am,” he confirms, “The pain proves it.”

Pain he’d suffered from helping me survive the Conclave.

“Thank-you, for keeping me alive.” I say, meaning it, I wouldn’t have made it without him and Illian having helped me.

He doesn’t shrug off my gratitude like someone from Skai-kru would have done but takes it as his due. “Thank-you for letting my people into the bunker.”

“We’re Wonkru now,” I tell him, “No more fighting between clans, no more alliances or threats of war. Ogeda, with one future and one goal.”

He accepts this with a half-smile, “Noble cause,” he answers, “But it’ll take a while to get there, enemies don’t become friends overnight, especially in spaces this small.”

I shrug, “We have five years to figure it out.”

He’s about to say something when he sways dangerously and I instinctively reach for him, catching him in my arms and struggling to hold him upright,

“ _Don’t die_.” I order and his eyes flicker open,

“Would my death not help you?” he challenges, humour in his voice and I glare,

“Not in here without a single witness,” I argue, through gritted teeth, “People would say I killed you.”

He chuckles, but reaches for the lamp behind him to steady himself, but I know it won’t take his weight so I lean him against the bookshelf instead.

“I came here for a reason,” he begins, wincing as he presses a hand to one of his stomach wounds,

“I have broken ribs and I asked Abby why,” he breaks off, flinching and I wonder if he was given any painkillers.

Considering how close her daughter had come to killing him, he’d probably refused anything Abby had offered, “She told me that Clarke had performed…”

He stops, his eyes darting left and right as he tries to remember the term and I cross my arms,

“Trigedasleng.” I prompt but he shakes his head,

“It doesn’t translate…she started my heart.”

I nod, “CPR,” I explain, “When you heart stops it can sometimes bring you back.”

He’s pale and sweating but there’s a satisfied grin on his face,

“That means I was dead.” He points out.

“My condolences.” I respond drily before figuring out where he was going with this.

“Which means I won the Conclave.”

He grunts as he stands and my eyes dart to the floor, wondering how badly he’ll injure himself if he falls.

“You’re the Commander,” he declares, “I’ll accept that.”

“And your people?” I ask, as he begins easing his way to the door,

“Azgeda will follow me,” he promises, grinning ruefully, “They don’t have a choice, after my mother’s reign, the royal line is down to me.”

“Then I need you alive.” I decide and he chuckles, “Keep Indra away from me then.”

* * *

  
Dinner time.

The first meal served in the bunker and the food hall was quickly filling with almost every last person inside,

“We won’t be able to do this again,” Kane tells me, bending his head so I can hear him over the noise, “But I thought it would be nice to have one meal together, as Ogeda.”

Connected to the hall was an open kitchen and I could see the workers inside bustling about as they hurried to fill the trays at the buffet line.

I’d never seen anything like this.

The closest I’d ever come was to the night after we landed with the roasted pig.

Tables were filling up quickly and without even looking, I already knew that people were sitting with their clans.

We’d have to come up with a way to change that.

Bellamy is hovering by the end of the line, holding two trays and it’s strange to see him at a meal without Clarke beside him. When I get close he smiles and holds out one of the trays, surprising me.

“I’m guessing even the Commander has to queue like everyone else.” He jokes, letting me go ahead of him and this will be the first large sit down dinner I’ve ever attended.

“Should I say something?” I ask Kane under my breath, as he and Bell shuffle behind me, handing over our trays to the cooks who take their turns filling them.

“If you like,” he says, “But you gave a good speech earlier, perhaps it will be enough to be seen sitting with your people.”

Your people.

I want to remind him that Skai-kru aren’t my people, but it’s been a long two days and I don’t want to pick a fight in the middle of the food hall, so instead, I take my plate and begin scanning the room for an empty seat.

I see one between Indra and Gaia, one that’s clearly being saved for me but something stops me.

I can’t be seen favouring Trikru or Skai-kru over other clans. Especially if word got out about the assassination attempt on Roan in the med-bay.  

Delfikru has taken a table and a half, leaving a few spare seats and I make my way over.

They all stare as I approach, “May I?” I ask, gesturing to the seat and the one closest to me nods quickly.

I sit down and give a thin smile before I begin eating. Kane and Bellamy take the seats opposite me, and I’ll have to tell them to start eating with other people.

Except Kane turns to the person next to him and strikes up conversation, clearly surprising them with his knowledge of Trigedasleng and Bellamy doesn’t look left or right but devours the food on his tray like his life depends on it.

Watching him almost puts me off my meal, so I chew carefully, trying not to judge him as I sip on my water.

He finishes and mumbles something about seeing me later and vanishes on me, leaving me wondering if I’d consumed some jobi nuts and hallucinated his being there in the first place.

At the other end of the table, they’re making comments comparing my brother to a starving man,

“Or a wild animal,” I mutter, making them laugh.

I didn’t see which exit he used, but I can guess where he’s going.

Who he’s going to see.

Clarke.

Sometimes I wonder if my brother can see past his own heart.

* * *

 


	3. Dr. Abigail Griffin

_Dr. Abigail Griffin_

 

I had barely given Bellamy the all-clear before he was out of bed and striding towards the door.

One second I’m telling him that he’s okay to leave and the next, I’m turning around to find myself watching his retreating back.

Good.

I knew he would go straight to Clarke and start working out the solution to this problem.

Either with their minds or his gun.

Either way, my daughter was in safe hands.

Marcus was there also, I had been stuck trying to do what I could for the injured and half-dead King of Azgeda, but Marcus had come by to assure me that he would watch over Clarke.

And he’d fled pretty quickly when I’d brought out the syringe to take blood samples from Roan.

The man could recover from being crucified yet needles still terrified him.

I had been prepping Roan’s arm for the syringe before I’d even thought of how a Grounder would react to having their blood drawn for scientific purposes.

I’d apologized and asked for his consent but he’d only given me a rueful grin,

“What use could my blood have for anyone but myself right now?” he’d asked, though his eyes had darted away as I’d pressed the needle into his skin.

I smile comfortingly and told him to try to rest, and for an hour, he lay back against the pillows, his eyes closed even though I could tell from his pained breathing that he was still awake.

I had given him as much morphine as I could under the rationing system and the fact that he had no tolerance to manufactured medicines.

Still, seeing the scars from the black rain on his face and body made me want to give him another dosage.

He had been handsome and perhaps if some of the scars healed over time, he would be again.

I couldn’t say.

Again, I found myself wondering what my daughter felt for this man.

I had heard one Grounder joke that the Commanders now had two required ascensions, one to the throne and the other to my daughter’s bed.

I’d made a note of their face and hoped for their sake that they never required medical treatment from me.

Clarke and I didn’t discuss her lovers, I was never the first to know about them, always finding out from the rumour mill that could and had survived the nuclear apocalypse.

I’d found out about Niylah only when I’d asked why a Grounder was living in Arkadia.

 

I have Jackson run the tests and begin writing up Roan’s chart.

A bunker filled with one thousand, one hundred new people for me to treat and because they were a society of oral tradition, most of them didn’t read or write, which meant I would have to create medical files on all of them for the next five years.

Whilst overcoming their fear of doctors and science courtesy of Mt Weather.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say, turning in my seat to find another man trying to sneak out on me.

“You’ll tear your stitches.”

Roan glances down at the stomach wound that was deepest on his left-hand side, Clarke had stitched him up and treated him when he’d been her prisoner, and miraculously, he hadn’t injured himself further when he’d been dragged down to the lower level to rescue Bellamy Blake, yet he was still nursing this injury the most.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs, slowly making his way to the door, “I have a solution.”

Wonderful.

But as much as I wanted my daughter safe, I didn’t think him bleeding out in the hallway was a viable solution.

“You said my ribs were broken by Clarke,” he begins and I nod,

“Judging from the injuries, I’d say that was sustained when she gave you CPR and restarted your heart.”

He tilts his head, “So my heart was stopped?”

I nod again and he grins, “Good.”

That’s one response.

He continues to the door and I follow him, wondering if I’d have to drag him back to the bed.

In his current condition, it wouldn’t be difficult.

His foot has barely cleared the threshold when a Grounder appears out of nowhere, standing right in front of him and bowing,

“Ai Haihefa,” (My king,) she intones gravely, “Ai badan yu op” (I serve you)

Roan stares at her impassively, “Another of the Queen’s Guard?” he asks and I wonder why they haven’t become the King’s Guard yet.

Probably haven’t had the time.

She straightens up and rests her hand on the hilt of her sword.

I make a note to set up a weapons bin at the entrance to my med-bay.

“Right,” he looks at her, “Stay out of my way.”

“And if he collapses, bring him back to me.” I interject, wondering if for a moment I’ve gone too far but Roan’s lip quirks up in a fleeting smile.

“If I’m still breathing,” he adds as an addendum, “If not, hide my body somewhere.”

I smirk and duck back into the safety of my med-bay.

* * *

 

On the Ark, before the oxygen deprivation, I would usually see three or four people a day.

Medical treatment was free but missing a day of work meant less rations.

And medicine was expensive, no matter how much of it I wrote out of inventory and snuck to those in need.

Once we were on the ground and there were no longer consequences for seeking medical aid, I could treat between ten and twenty people a day. They’d come into my med-bay cautiously at first, not used to being able to tell me their problems and have me offer a free solution, then they’d come in greater numbers.

Now, my med-bay is empty and it’s barely six in the evening.

I suppose we’re only four hours into the bunker, but I expected at least one idiot with an injury, besides Bellamy who’d been tortured, Roan who should have been dead and Raven who had cured herself of a brain tumour.

Two of them had been discharged and one was currently off trying to find a solution to the problems caused by his resurrection.

Perhaps those from Arkadia were staying in their bunks, mourning those they had lost and afraid to venture out in case angry Grounders were waiting to attack them again.

And Grounders would probably go to their own healers before coming to me.

Jackson reports back to me that Roan’s blood is fine, though he does have a slight iron-deficiency which is expected in winter.

I tell Roan about this when he comes back to the med-bay, staggering through the door and gripping his side.

“There won’t be a war,” he reports, “Octavia is the Conclave victor.”

“You have low iron in your blood,” I reply, helping him back into the bed,

“You need more red meat or certain vegetables.”

He snorts in amusement, “Shall I order my people to hunt one of the wild boar running around down here?”

“We’ll be farming vegetables soon.” I promise but he only offers a half shrug,

“In Azgeda, in winter, we farmed herrings, salted them and ate them at every meal.”

“That explains his sodium levels.” Jackson comments behind me and I send him to start inventory.

So, Roan and I are alone when the men turn up.

I’m at my desk when I sense that something is wrong and I look up to see four Grounders in the doorway, scanning the room and I stand up with a professional smile, trying to look casual as I place myself in their path from the door to Roan’s bed.

They’re marked but I can’t distinguish clan tattoos, I never bothered learning as I usually encountered them when they were in my med-bay and when territory and people were irrelevant.

But judging from how still Roan has gone, I know they aren’t Ice-nation.

“Can I help you?” I ask, politely, even as I try to think how to call for help.

No radio, no alarm to sound, probably no-one in the halls…

“Our friend is injured,” one of them tells me gruffly, “Outside.”

He jerks his head and I know an unspoken order to follow when I see one.

“Then bring him in.” I suggest, hoping that I’m wrong and they do need medical help.

“No,” the same man tells me, “You go outside.”

If I step outside, even for a second, I might be able to run for help, but Roan will be dead before I return.

Dead in my med-bay.

“Of course,” I try to smile past my rising panic, “Let me just grab my things.”

The closest object to me that could be weaponized was a scalpel on the operating tray, I don’t think I have a chance of palming it, so I pick it up and hold it while rummaging around for a med-kit, as if it was just another instrument.

One of the med-kits is on the shelf by Roan’s bed, and when I go to pick it up, the Grounders lunge towards me with a snarl.

Azgeda’s king is out of the bed and catching the scalpel I throw to him in an instant; it’s buried in the shoulder of the first one to attack him but before the second attempt, there’s a sharp dagger pressed to my throat.

“Surrender, Roan kom Azgeda,” the man snarls, “Or she dies.”

“Kill her, and your people will die!” Roan warns, “She is the best healer in this bunker.”

The dagger is cold against my skin, until it bites into my flesh and droplets of blood begin pooling onto the blade.

If I die, Clarke will be heartbroken.

My baby girl.

Marcus will protect her, I know this at least, and Bellamy Blake would and has killed for her.

But still, I want to be there for her.

She’s my daughter.

I hiss in pain as the dagger breaks through my skin, pain lancing through my brain and I struggle to follow with my eyes as Roan drops the bloody scalpel to the floor.

He’s commanded to kneel and this will be his execution.

And they won’t leave witnesses behind to identify the executioners.

Perhaps, on a regular day, Roan could have fought these men and at least killed two of them, but today, he’s wounded and in pain, without full mobility on the left side of his body and nursing broken ribs.

He sinks to his knees slowly, gripping the bed railing as his body protests and sweat beads his temples.

A sword is placed against his neck, the executioner marking the spot.

They aren’t even giving him the dignity of a final battle.

The sword catches the harsh light of the room as it begins its ascent, almost beautiful as it hangs in the air and…

“ _Hod op!_ ” (Stop)

The shout crosses the room, as the blade swings down, but such is the tone of command that the blade stops inches from Roan’s neck.

“Drop your weapons,” the voice continues, “ _Now!_ ”

I gasp with relief as the blade leaves my skin and immediately press my hand to the wound, moving to the drawers to grab a bandage before looking to Roan.

He was slowly pulling himself into a standing position and I duck under his arm, supporting his left side until I can get him sitting on the bed.

Octavia has the men against the wall, a sword in hand but at her side, not aimed at them.

“What the hell is this?!” she demands, glaring up at them until they begin to cower,

“Not only was he unarmed but you threatened the one doctor we have in this place!”

One of them opens his mouth to speak but she takes a step forward, a head shorter than him but not one inch of her suggested she would tolerate disobedience.

“Go back to the one who ordered this and tell them, Roan is not to be killed.”

The men turn almost in unison and leave, gone as quickly as they came, leaving only a few weapons on the ground and my bleeding neck as evidence that they had ever been here.

Gone is the young girl who had been shuttled onto the dropship to crash into the Earth, the young girl who had mourned Lincoln’s death.

In her place was a Commander.

* * *

 

One who faces me with a grim nod, “You okay?” she asks, “Should I find Jackson?”

I shake my head, “Nothing a little pressure and a bandage won’t fix.”

She steps to the side so she can see Roan, “You?”

He quirks an eyebrow, “Wondering if I should forget Trikru markings on my attackers.”

Octavia puts her hands on her hips, “Tomorrow we can announce that you died in the Conclave and that you accept me as Commander, they won’t have any reason to kill you after that.”

“Wonderful,” he deadpans, “If I’m still alive, I’ll be happy to swear allegiance.”

“Speaking of living,” I interject, “He needs rest.”

I make sure Roan is lying in the bed and stare at him pointedly until he surrenders and closes his eyes. The light system in the med-bay has a dimming option and I darken the room as much as possible whilst still giving Octavia and I the ability to see our way out.

In the hallway, I call her name quietly as she goes to leave and she turns back to me with a sigh that is all teenage girl,

“I’m not releasing Clarke,” she tells me before I can even ask, “I can’t, not yet anyway.”

I exhale, “Guess I’m not the first to make that request,” I note drily, “Actually, I was going to ask if you need medical treatment,” I lie, “I haven’t had the chance to look you over since the Conclave and would like to before something falls off.”

She raises her eyebrows but holds up both arms, “If something turns green I’ll let you know.”

I smirk, “Good call. Goodnight, Commander.”

I give a quick bow of my head and turn away, walking down the hall even though Roan will likely need observation tonight, but I don’t want to be around people right now.

Bellamy Blake swore that he wouldn’t let anything happen to my daughter and he spoke for his sister as well.

Not even one day into the bunker and that promise means nothing.

I was a fool to trust him, the rebel would-be-assassin from Walden.

He had convinced the hundred to take off their bracelets, he had destroyed the radio that had left us to believe the earth wasn’t survivable just long enough to cull three hundred lives, he had been a constant thorn in my side when I was chancellor, supporting Clarke’s disobedience and then giving Pike the power necessary to become leader. He had slaughtered an army of peaceful grounders in Pike’s name and then turned against him when it suited him.

Still, I had thought, when A.L.I.E was sending our own people against us and he was the last defence standing between Clarke and death, I had thought…

There, in spite of everything, was a man I could trust with my daughter’s life.

I had been wrong and now it could cost me everything.

* * *

 


	4. Clarke Griffin

_Clarke Griffin_

 

How many hours, days, years altogether had I spent in solitary confinement?

The Ark, Mt Weather, this bunker?

Why was it that no matter what I did, I always found myself imprisoned alone in a cold, metal room?

At least on the Ark my hands hadn’t been bound.

And where did we even get manacles anyway?

I know these weren’t from Arkadia which makes me wonder about the crazy prophet who built this bunker and…

I hear Bellamy’s step outside and I’m grateful for the distraction.

Except he doesn’t walk through the door when I expect him too and after a few seconds I hear him arguing with the guards.

 

I never thought I would miss the first few months after our landing on Earth, not the starvation or the constant threat of death, the attacks by the Grounders or the fear that we’d freeze come winter, but the simple chain of command.

Bellamy had quickly made himself the leader, the king and my only obstacle to getting things done.

Then the Ark had come down and I’d been forced to go head-to-head with my mom, Kane and Jaha, adults who thought that despite everything we’d been through and accomplished that we were still kids. And not just them, every adult who’d come down with them had questioned my decisions and been vocal about it too.

It made everything so much harder to get done, and Bellamy went from being leader to being just another member of the Ark to eventually settling in as my fellow leader and sometimes second-in-command.

I’d had to stage a coup and kill Finn to get our people out of Mount Weather, but I’d made a mistake in walking away. It had left Bellamy without the necessary backup to cement his position as leader for the whole of the Ark, not just those who were loyal to him. It had also made me an outsider too.

And now, with Octavia taking over the bunker, I had no idea what our roles would be.

Or if I’d even live long enough to have one.

I don’t know what kind of trials the Grounders considered fair, but I remembered what they would have done to Finn.

I remember how he’d felt, shaking with fear against me.

He’d killed eighteen people.

I’d killed nine hundred and seven.

How would they even begin to try and make me suffer the pain of all those deaths?

How long would I hold out?

I’d survived A.L.I.E.’s attempts to torture me, I’d survived my own mom pushing a scalpel into my breasts and watching her hang herself, but I would have broken if they’d hurt Bellamy.

He would be safe though.

People blamed me for burning the three hundred grounders at the drop site, he had tried to warn us about the bomb on Ton DC and Lexa and I had chosen not to save people, they blamed me for Mt Weather…  

The only crime that could be held against him was the massacre of the grounder army and Pike had been declared guilty of that.

He’s finally allowed in and I hear him throwing one last comment in Trigedalseng, so I know whomever is at the door isn’t Skai-kru.

He manages a slim smile when he sees me and holds up a tray of food,

“Brought you dinner.” he explains and I manage a nod, my mouth watering at the sight of the food.

When was the last time I’d eaten? Before we got back to Polis after our failed experiments on the island.

He places the tray down on the floor and I sit down frowning slightly as I try to figure out how to eat with bound hands.

“Trick is to balance it on your knees,” Bellamy tells me, crouching down in front of me,

“Less distance to cover then.”

Okay.

“They teach you that in guard training?” I tease, sarcasm mixing with honest curiosity because I don’t know how Bellamy acquired so many of the skills that have kept us alive since day one. But this time he doesn’t crack a grin, only ducking his head and swallowing.

“I made sure the grounders…when Pike was in charge, I kept them fed for as long as I could.”

 

Lincoln.

If he had lived, he could have trained beside me to become a doctor like my mom.

He could have been a link between our people and the grounders.

He would have become Bellamy’s family, not just Octavia’s.

I know Bellamy mourned that future, lost to him now and another death he blamed himself for.

How many different paths had been cut off to the both us because of the choices we made?

 

“How are things out there?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject and he gives a small shrug,

“Quiet for now, most of the people outside cleared out once food was served, it’ll take a few days to get everyone into a routine but barring any riots or chaos, things should settle down soon.”

And then my trial could start.

“How’s Roan?”

His eyes flicker to mine at that question and dart away again, “He’s alive, in the med-bay with your mom looking after him.”

Good.

“We need to keep him that way,” I muse out loud, “Now Azgeda knows he’s alive, we can’t have him dying suddenly.”

I get two slightly raised eyebrows, the sign of first-level disappointment or anger from Bellamy Blake,

“Him being alive is a threat to O’s position as commander.” he argues but I shake my head,

“Roan cares about leading his people and seeing to their future,” I say,

“As long as Octavia is no threat to Azgeda and he can lead them in peace, he’ll recognize her rule.”

“He wants to be better than his mother was,” I continue, pushing the food around on the tray,

“In the end that’s all we can really hope for, to do better than those before us.”

Whoever came after me wouldn’t have too hard a job.

I hoped it would be Bellamy. He was still respected amongst our people, for what he had done for the hundred, his willingness to risk everything to save lives, even his mistakes had been forgiven by Skai-kru.

He would be a good leader for them.

I wonder if the title of Wanheda would die with me?

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching over and taking my hand, squeezing it gently,

“I promised your mom that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and I won’t.”

He shouldn’t have made that promise, breaking it would haunt him forever.

Octavia and I had been friends once, but now she saw me as no better than Jaha, or any of the other Phoenicians who had spent their lives living in luxury while people like Jasper, Monty and Raven struggled to survive on their rations. And yes, my family and our neighbours had been on rations too, but somehow, there had always been a few extra comforts, always old whisky and bourbon, snack food in our kitchens and clothes when we’d outgrown our old ones.

Even if she hadn’t known about that, she knew that people like Jaha, people like me were the reason she had been born in secret and condemned to a life under the floor, because people like us cared more about the survival of the human race than we did about the survival of humanity.

People like us had no place in this new world she was going to build as Commander of Ogeda.

“How will I be tried?” I ask him, “The Grounders don’t have trials, they don’t have juries, they just have judge and executioner.”

He clenches his jaw, “We’ll figure it out,” he manages to say through gritted teeth,

“But Clarke, O won’t hurt you.”

I push aside the tray and wish I had something to wipe my fingers on, but napkins probably weren’t high on the supplies list for the doomsday cult.

I place my hand atop Bellamy’s, gripping it tightly, “The grounders need to be shown that Octavia won’t favour Skai-kru over them, that nobody is above her laws,” I tell him, “And they blame me for so much, if she kills me, she takes my power and then no-one will challenge her…”

“Clarke,” he interrupts me, eyes narrowed slightly in a tell-tale sign of second-level anger from Bellamy Blake. “It doesn’t matter what killing you would achieve because it isn’t going to happen. End of story.”

I don’t have his faith, I don’t have his heart.

My own stopped working after I drove a knife into Finn’s stomach for a peace treaty that was broken a few days later and recovered only long enough for Lexa’s death to shatter it again.  
He gets to his feet, taking my empty tray and he’s tense, all lines, hard edges, and jerky movements.

“Hey…” I sigh, climbing to my feet, “Don’t…”

I want to tell him not to leave angry, or not to leave at all.

I want to tell him that it’s cold down here and that I want him to stay and hold me, keep me warm.

During the days leading up to our destruction of Mt Weather, Bellamy and I had been headed towards something…a future had that terrified me after losing Finn and facing Lexa’s certainty that love was weakness, so I had pushed him away, hurting him and in return he’d given me forgiveness and compassion I hadn’t deserved in so long.

And then I had walked away from him and destroyed so much of our connection that it had taken artificial intelligence hellbent on destroying the world and a nuclear apocalypse to get us back on track.

Now, we were running out of time.

But I’m a coward, and the thought of starting something with Bellamy when my life could end at any moment, it would be cruel to the both of us and would break him even worse when he couldn’t save me.  

“Can you bring me something to read?” I ask, grabbing the first excuse that runs through my head, “Imprisonment gets boring fast.”

Whatever he’d been expecting me to say, that wasn’t it, so he ducks his head to hide his amused smile.

“Any preferences?”

I shrug, “A summary of the myths and legends you’re always referring to?”

His shoulders shake a few times as he struggles to supress his chuckles, “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

 

I wonder where they’re keeping Jaha.

Just how many cells do they have down here?

Considering I’m in the barely retrofitted turbine room, I’m guessing there’s either one other actual cell or Jaha’s talked his way out of facing any consequences besides his momentary guilt.

Again.

If he wasn’t Wells father, I might have wanted him dead myself.

The manacles are still stained with blood from when they were wrapped around Bellamy’s wrists and it’s dry, flaking off onto my skin.

I’d let the guards drag him down here and chain him up like an animal, knowing that even chained, he would continue fighting with every bit of strength left in his body.

Bellamy wasn’t a soldier, he was a warrior and when he had a cause he believed in, he fought with everything he had, giving his life for it. It’s why people believed in him, he had such a true heart, so capable of faith and devotion.

It had ruined me to hear his screams of grief and the thought that I would have to endure five years in a bunker in which he would put as much space between us as possible and counting down the days until he could escape up to the ground and go far away, free to never see me again and hate me for the rest of his life. 

But at least he would be alive.

Except he had escaped with my mom’s help and I had found myself having to ask what I cared about more; Bellamy’s survival or the survival of the human race?

I had made the choice that was right for me and wrong for everyone else.

By sheer miracle, our people were allowed to remain and in an attempt to atone for some of my sins, I had blackmailed Echo into making six places available for my people, and in return she needed to make one more place for Roan.

Murphy, Emori, Niylah, Harper, Monty and Jasper.

Six lives. Six lives against the nine hundred and seven I had taken.

Six drops of clean water in my ocean of blood.

I can hear the guards outside muttering to each other, trying to compare legends of my crimes and add embellishments.

I had seduced and killed Lexa, I had seduced Roan and convinced him to break with tradition and become Commander, Octavia had locked me up after I’d tried to seduce her.

In spite of everything, I find myself fighting not to smile or laugh.

What stories would be told at my trial?

Would I have to defend my actions?

Would Jaha be tried before, after or with me?

Would anyone speak up for me?

Bellamy would and he was a skilled orator, able to bring a crowd to frenzy or talk them down, just give him a chance. Except his trigedasleng wasn’t much better than mine, so the grounders wouldn’t be moved.

And what if he spoke for me and they decided to try him for his crimes as well?

Lexa had known after a few days that I cared for Bellamy more than other members of the hundred, A.L.I.E. had known that I wouldn’t hold out if he was tortured, Roan had known to take him hostage to force my hand.

I could go to my death with my head held up, my hands might shake and I might have tears in my eyes but I wouldn’t beg for my life.

But I would beg unashamedly for Bellamy’s.

Even if I can’t admit to myself what I feel for him.

Until I could, he would have to be strong enough for the both of us.

There’s noise at the door and I think he’s back with a book already and despite my situation I’m excited for this. Bellamy had mentioned to me once that he’d loved to read, he and Octavia had often wiled away long hours scouring through the Ark online library for anything and everything that took their interest. Bellamy would come home from classes, teach her everything he had learnt that day and they would go over his homework together before finding something else to learn.

They’d loved ancient history the best, the myths, legends and the facts about these civilisations that were built up and destroyed over the course of centuries.

I want to see his face as he brings me the same reading material that had fuelled their imaginations, I want to share this one good thing with him.

Except it’s not Bellamy coming through the door.

“Mom?” I blurt in surprise and she raises her eyebrows, “Hi sweetie, am I interrupting?”

I look around the empty room, “I was just about to start painting my nails.” I joke and she grins,

“Then you’ll want clean hands.”

She holds up her medical kit and I offer up my hands, fighting to keep my expression calm and still so she won’t be upset.

My wrists are a little bruised, but there’s no broken skin, a little abrasion but nothing that some disinfectant or even water wouldn’t fix.

Her eyes harden at the sight of blood but when a quick swab of cotton shows that it isn’t mine, she relaxes, “Are you okay?” she asks and I nod, “Fine, I’m actually a little bored.” I confess, the corner of my lip twitching up and she smiles, “No flat surfaces in here to draw on,” she notes, “But maybe I could bring you down something…”

“Bellamy’s going to bring me down some books,” I tell her, ready for the knowing gaze she threw at me every time I mentioned his name, instead, her gaze becomes flint.

“Before or after his sister finishes deciding your sentence?” she queries, her voice cold with hostility and I shrug,

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Suddenly my mom curses and turns away, running her hand through her hair in frustration and I feel sick to my stomach. 

She’d lost dad to the consequences of his morality, she was losing me to the consequences of my amorality.

She was thirty-seven years old, a widow whose daughter was facing execution, a woman who’d I’d talked into sacrificing her ideals and experimenting on humans for the sake of the survival of the human race.

And as it turned out, it had been for nothing.

Because here we were in the bunker, where no night-blood was necessary to survive.

“It’ll be okay,” I lie to her, because what good is the truth right now.

“Mom, I’ll be okay.”

She breaks then, sobbing and I go to comfort her but she’s out of reach, the chains rattling against the bar and I’m pulled up short.

The sound shocks her into silence and when she turns around again, she comes close and hugs me, but without affection, “You have friends amongst the grounders,” she whispers in my ear,

“Allies, could they help you?”

Help me?

Roan was my best ally amongst the grounders and he was hopefully recovering in the med-bay after I’d kept him imprisoned in the lower level prayer room. Ice-Nation followed him but hated Skai-kru and hated me more.

Nyko’s few friends from Ton DC that had survived Finn, Pike, and the Ice-Nation army were willing to work with me when their people needed it. Some Tri-kru warriors who had been loyal to Lexa would maybe abstain if my execution was put to a vote…

But between my crimes and Skai-kru…too many people would rather see me dead.

I shake my head, “No.”

She grips me tighter, “What about enemies?” she hisses, “Octavia must have some.”

I pull back, “Mom, don’t…”

She grits her teeth, “I’ll kill her myself if necessary.”

I take a hold of her forearms, squeezing tightly, “No,” I say firmly, “You won’t.”

“Octavia…” she begins,

“Is the commander,” I finish, “And the best chance humanity has of making it through the next five years, she has to live, even if it means my death.”

Tears shine in her eyes and she looks so young and vulnerable, “I can’t lose you,” she gasps and I pull her into a proper hug this time,

“It’ll be okay,” I lie, “I’ll be okay.”

A guard appears in the door, filling it entirely with his girth, “Bants,” (Leave,) he orders and I force myself to release her, “Nau.” (Now.)

And suddenly, I’m back on the Ark, in the Skybox, watching the juvenile offenders be led out of their cells and certain that we’re being executed to preserve oxygen.

I hug my mom tighter, “I love you.” I whisper, unable to say the goodbye prayer.

“I love you, too.” She replies.

The guard marches in to forcibly remove her and I step back immediately, holding my hands as high as I can to show I’m not a threat and after a moment where she studies his face, my mom shakes his hand off and stalks from the room.

I realize she’s left the med-kit on the floor and sit down, packing it up as I’ve done a thousand times before, except this time is different.

Med-kits don’t carry three different scalpels and a syringe filled with a murky brown liquid.

She’s left me means to defend myself or to kill.

I pick up one of the scalpels and hold it up to the light for a moment, admiring the glint of the light on the steel before I place it in the kit, zip it up and using my foot, kick it into the corner, out of sight and far out of my reach.

* * *

 

Sleeping with bound hands is difficult, and not something I’d had to learn yet. Usually in this situation I’m being dragged across miles of hostile territory by an angry grounder.

And letting me sleep isn’t exactly a priority for them.

Still, I manage to lie down on the ground and rest my hands on my stomach, until the weight of the chains begins to hurt, then I release a sigh and drop my hands to beside my hip.

That’s not pleasant either but I’m exhausted enough that I fall into a heavy sleep.

Until a jarring pain erupts in my side and I gasp awake, struggling to breathe as I try to figure out what’s happening.

The floor disappears from under me and my legs flail in the air, before I’m dropped with a thud and the impact shoots up to my knees.

“What’s happening?” I ask, as my shoulders are gripped tightly and I’m forced into a standing position.

“Shof yu op!” (Silence!)

I see two grounders in front of me, Trishanakru and not the guards who had been stationed at the door earlier.

Were they dead?

Was I?

The manacles are undone and my hands are momentarily free before being rebound behind my back with rope and I wince at it bites into my skin.

“What’s happening?” I demand, “What time is it?”

I’m told to be silent again and frog-marched into the hall, where I see the lights have been dimmed.

It was night-time.

I wasn’t being taken to my trial.

“No,” I protest, trying to dig my heels into the floor and making absolutely no progress,

“ _No_ , the Commander said I was to go to trial…I’m not…”

 

I was eighteen.

I would be nineteen in a few months.

An adult in the eyes of the Ark and in the eyes of the Grounders.

By why would Octavia send Trishankru instead of Tri-kru?

 

“Let me go!” I say, struggling as we reach the elevator, “I want to speak to the Commander.”

I wanted to speak to Kane, or Bellamy, someone who could intervene for me.

If I was going to be killed I wanted time to say my goodbyes first.

Unless this was what today had been.

If she had at least warned me…

 

I’m pushed into the elevator and can’t break my fall so my face hits the wall and I see stars as my nose throbs and blood starts to trickle down my face.

By the time we reach the third floor, it’s dripping off my chin and my head aches.

I’m dragged down the halls and hope we’ll encounter someone, anyone to be a witness, even as logic tells me that I can’t just disappear in the night.

It would destroy my mom, but Bellamy and Kane would tear this bunker apart until they gave her a body she could bury.

Or burn?

How would they dispose of corpses down here?

I think I hear a sound behind me but when I turn there’s nothing there and we take a sharp left, to the security room where earlier that day, I had watched Echo force Bellamy to kiss her.

Where were they holding her?

 

I’m tossed into the room and land on my knees, grunting at the pain and squeezing my eyes shut to force myself to get a grip before opening my eyes and looking up.

Indra’s face is the first I see and I hope this destroys her friendship with Kane.

I shift one foot forward and try to get myself into a standing position, a grounder coming forward and hoisting me to my feet.

“Bants” (Leave us) Octavia orders, coming into view, leaning against the back wall and almost in unison, every grounder in the room looks over their shoulder in obvious hesitation.

“I will remain with you.” Indra declares and I remember how she used to stand beside Lexa and defy her orders too.

The rest of the grounders file out but I doubt they’re going far. When they’re gone, silence reigns in spite of the whir of the engines, the air being filtered through the vents and the machines in the room.

Octavia huffs and comes forward, her hand reaching out and I flinch back, making her freeze before she begins wiping at my blood with her sleeve, “What happened?”

“Your men happened,” I snap, “I guess if I’m going to be executed a few more injuries won’t matter.”

She leans back, “ _Execution_?” she echoes, “Is that what they told you?!”

“They didn’t have to,” I look around, “It must be the middle of the night and I was dragged from my cell with no witnesses.”

She rolls her eyes, “And what, your first thought was that I’d ordered your death? I’m not _you_ , Clarke!”

I look her up and down, “Then why am I here?”

She steps back and jerks her head, and I follow in her wake, towards the bank of computer screens and we look down at one in particular.

One in the turbine room.

Where I was sitting with Bellamy crouched in front of me.

She had a full day worth of video.

 

She sees the horror on my face, “Yeah, there’s volume as well.” she answers and I sniff, looking away,

“If you need to kill me, then kill me,” I say, “But you need my mom alive, she’s the only doctor you have.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Octavia sighs, resting her hip against the desk, “But Clarke, you were going to leave us all out there to die!”

“And if I hadn’t and you’d lost the Conclave, whichever clan took that bunker would have been dead in a week without oxygen, water or food.”

She nods, “I know, but I didn’t lose the conclave, I won.”

How was I supposed to know a seventeen-year-old girl with less than a year of training would survive a conclave with the best warrior from each clan?

I’m about to point that out when I hear noise from outside.

“Heda!” A familiar voice calls, “A word.”

Roan.

 

I feel a surge of hope when he comes into the room, even though he looks like he can barely stand.

Octavia snorts and puts a hand on her hip as she looks him up and down,

“At some point, you’ll either have to start healing or die.”

He manages a grin, “Is that a Skai-kru saying?”

“No,” I answer for her, “But did my mom discharge you from the med-bay?”

He holds up a wrist to show shreds of Velcro stuck to his shirt, “She did her best to stop me.”

He reaches my side and takes my arm, turning me to face him and Octavia tries to give us privacy by putting the headphones from the computer on.

 

“I’ve survived Wanheda,” he says, his face close to mine and his voice barely above a whisper,

“Perhaps it’s a miracle.”

I exhales through my nose and drop my gaze, “I didn’t want to kill you,” I point out,

“I didn’t even want you to die in the conclave, if you’d been willing to work with us…”

“I was,” he argued, “And your chancellor betrayed me for an alliance with Trikru.”

He lowers his head so I’m forced to look into his eyes, still bloodshot but I see the same guilt and regret that he sees in mine. 

“We always do what’s best for our people.” he murmurs, with a hint of sadness that makes me realize that I’ve lost something.

Another path was being closed off to me.

 

He straightens and faces Octavia who hangs the headphones on her neck and they look so out of place with her grounder clothes.

“You can’t put Clarke on trial,” he tells her, stopping to wince and nurse his left side,

“She’s _Wanheda_ , Commander of Death and if one commander is put on trial then soon…”

“Octavia would not be put on trial,” Indra snaps from the corner, glaring at the two of us,

“Our people respect and follow her.”

Unlike you, was the unspoken insult but Roan only smirks, “They respect and follow her now, but everything down here is…rationed…” he pauses and Octavia nods,

“It doesn’t translate,” he tells Indra, “But when our people are told they can only drink so much water and eat so much food a day? They’ll be angry.”

“What’s your point?” Octavia asks, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword,

“When you have people after your throne, it’s best to have a weapon you can unleash upon them, Skai-ripa.” He grins, “A weapon that has hundreds of deaths on her hands, a weapon people fear.”

“A weapon that betrays its wielder?” Indra quipped, her voice heavy with sarcasm,

“Wanheda has little loyalty in her heart.”

“She was loyal to her alliance with me,” Roan argues, a hint of pride in his voice,

“Make her loyal to her alliance with you.”

Indra is about to snap back at Azgeda’s king and blood is drying on my chin, making it itchy and my wrists hurt from the rope.

“Octavia,” I speak loudly, catching the attention of the room, “A word?”

Indra opens her mouth to protest but a glance from Octavia has her marching out the door, Roan moves at a slower pace due to his injuries and looks back at me once.

‘I’ve done what I can to save your life,’ his glance tells me, ‘What happens next is up to you.’

I watch them go and turn back to Octavia who is pressing keys on the board,

 

“Your mom wanted me dead,” she mutters, “And you told her I had to live.”

“After Finn died, I was broken and allowed Lexa to convince me that victory was worth whatever the cost,” I begin, “So when that bomb was going to drop on Ton DC, I didn’t warn you because I figured you’d warn everyone and then they’d know Bellamy was in the mountain…”

“You honestly expect me to believe that was you choosing my brother’s life over mine?” she interrupts and I nod, “Yes, because when Bellamy was about to open the bunker door, I had a gun to his head and had the chance to save all of humanity or him, I chose him and as long as you and he are on the same side…”

“You won’t kill me,” she interjects, “Same reason I can’t kill you. Because whichever one of us pulls the trigger would break my brother’s heart…”

“Whatever we feel about each other, neither of us could ever do that to him.”

Octavia sniffs and tilts her head back, “I still miss Lincoln every day, I wouldn’t wish true love on my worst enemy, not on Earth itself.”

She takes a dagger from her belt and flips it in the air before catching it and moving to slice the rope at my wrists and I wince as blood flow returns to my hands,

“Welcome to Ogeda,” she tells me, “You’re free.”

 

 


	5. Marcus Kane

_Marcus Kane_

  
Ordered chaos.

That is what I found myself facing early on our second morning underground.

Chaotic order.

Octavia had called the representatives of each clan to the council room, which hadn’t existed until about an hour prior, to be present when King Roan accepted the results of the Conclave and Wanheda pledged her allegiance.

Except, I am standing in the med-bay, watching as Roan struggled to stay upright as Abby and Jackson changed the bandaging on his ribs.

Various Azgeda members milling about, bringing him clothes and other items, guarding him and just generally providing a tense, charged atmosphere.

There had been an attempt on his life last night, the vague details I had received from Abby and coupled with the fact that he spent most of yesterday walking the length of the bunker trying to save lives and diffuse situations, he had torn stitches and exhausted himself.

Personally, I’m doubting he could make it through any sort of ceremony today.

And I don’t think I’m the only one with these concerns.  
  


Clarke is standing between two hospital beds, surreptitiously watching Roan from the corner of her eyes as two women painted her face and braided her hair.

Clarke Griffin slowly sinking below the surface so Wanheda could emerge.

When they are done, the woman before me has a heavy slow step that I don’t recognize. She eases her way towards Roan who is grinding his teeth,

“Give me something for the pain.” he demands of Abby, who only shakes her head,

“We can’t, you’re barely lucid as it is.”

He groans and turns to Wanheda who stares him straight in the eye,

“Is this really the most pain you’ve ever been in?” she asks and with a hint of a rueful grin, Roan shakes his head, “I guess not.”

“Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim,” (Get knocked down, get back up) she then bows her head,

“My King.”

They share a quick smile between the two of them that feels private, like I’m intruding and I turn away to find myself nearly colliding with Bellamy. He looks to Clarke and Roan and his eyes tighten, a flash of something close to hurt across his face before he looks to me,

“It’s time.” he states and I clasp my hands behind my back, considering the situation before us.

“Tell Octavia there’ll be a delay,” I instruct, “We’ll get there as soon as we can, but…”

“You’re in the way.”

We both turn to see Abby, her hands filled with soiled bandages standing before us, an unimpressed look on her face and Bellamy blinks, pressing back against the wall so she can pass us easily.

“This med-bay is small,” she says, closing the make-shift hazmat bin, “You should wait outside.”

  
The med-bay was three interconnected rooms, a room for overnight patients, an operating theatre and stock room. In this room, there was space enough for at least twenty more people, albeit the entry door wasn’t wide.

Bellamy’s brow creases and his hand rests on his gun holster, fiddling with it as I’d seen him do when he was nervous. “Ma’m.” he murmurs, turning on his heel and stepping outside.

Clarke notes his exit and seems about to follow him, but is distracted by helping Roan place his crown on his head.

I reach out, touching Abby’s arm as she passes, “What are you doing?” I ask quietly, reeling back slightly when I see the anger boiling underneath the surface of her eyes. 

“Hoping my daughter lives through the day, in spite of yours wanting her dead.” She hisses, pulling her arm free.

My heart clenches and I want to protest, to assure her that Clarke would be fine, that I would die before I let anything happen to her, that Octavia wouldn’t let anything happen to her, but words fail me and a bell chimed once over the speakers.

We were out of time.

  
Roan gets to his feet and sways once before exhaling slowly, squeezing his eyes shut tightly before opening them again and looking to Wanheda.

“Walk beside me, keep close.” he orders her and she nods.

Two Azgedan guards step before the king, leading them from the room and the rest of us fall in behind them.

I am a step behind Wanheda and the king and when we step into the hallway, I find myself thinking I should have called for backup.

  
The halls are lined with people.

And not one of them looks friendly.

There is a deafening silence as we walk and my hands are clasped behind my back but I know from years of experience that I could have my gun drawn and aimed at a threat in two seconds.

Eyes follow the king and Wanheda, eyes narrowed in suspicion or outright hatred and I glance over the faces quickly, looking for people I recognize, Skai-kru guards or those who had been part of the hundred and were loyal to Clarke.

I don’t see them but I catch a glimpse of Tri-kru warriors, people I had considered my allies if not my friends.

Now, they look at me as if I were a stranger.

It’s a short walk from the med-bay to the new Council room, but it feels unnaturally long, not only because Roan was moving slowly feigning casualness when the truth was he was too wounded to move quickly, but because I had forgotten what it felt like to be faced with this much resentment from the people my job demanded I protect.

  
  
The Council chamber had been a meeting room for the prophet and it had been retrofitted to resemble the council chamber of the tower. Octavia stood before her throne, dressed as a Commander, her forearm resting on the hilt of her sword. Beside her stood Indra and behind her Indra’s daughter Gaia, the fleimkipa. I give Indra a quick smile as Roan and Clarke stand in the middle of the room, waiting as people filed in, leaving a space around the two of them.

When the room is full, I see Bellamy in the corner, his eyes on his sister who looks over her shoulder to Gaia, “Let’s get started.”

Roan is called by his titles and steps forward, looking up at Octavia with pride in his bearing.

“Are you Roan kom Azgeda?” Gaia asks and he nods,

“I am.”

“And how are you here now when you should have died in the Conclave?”

He blinks and looks around the room, “I did die in the Conclave, my heart stopped and I was dead, but Wanheda…” he glances to her, “Used science to bring me back.”

Mutterings break out, Wanheda keeps her head held high even as people hiss curses at her.

“Explain how,” Gaia encourages and Roan frowns slightly, his eyes darting between the fleimkipa and Octavia.

“She used…” he pauses, frowning slightly as he tries to remember the term.

“CPR,” Octavia interjects, “It’s a Skai-kru procedure, we used it for the treatment of…others as well.”

I guess she was about to say the reapers, which would not have gone over well.

I bite back my smirk at the thought of the king’s face if he’d been compared to the cannibals.

“You acknowledge that you lost?” Gaia demands and he quirks an eyebrow,

“I acknowledge that Octavia won the conclave and is the rightful Commander.” He answers and Gaia’s eyes narrow, glaring at him hatefully.

The keepers of the flame had resented Roan for his usurpation of the Commander’s position, traditionally belonging to night-bloods alone. It appeared they weren’t willing to let bygones be bygones.

There’s a scrape of boot on the floor and Wanheda shifts on her feet, paused in the act of stepping forward and Octavia looks to her.

She raises her chin and Roan steps backward as Wanheda takes his place. I heard and saw the allegiance she pledged the night she bowed to Lexa and she makes the same one again, almost word for word.

She bows to Octavia and I see the slight discomfort in her eyes, she’s not used to receiving homage or tribute, she’s still a young woman who remembers being condemned from birth as the second child.

She would grow used to it however.

Wanheda finishes and gives her a fleeting smile before stepping back beside the king. I think the ceremony is over and get ready to move towards Octavia when the fleimkipa begins speaking.

Gaia seems to be reciting a passage of some sort, one I don’t bother following, but I pick up enough to guess that it’s long and I wonder if this is par for the course.

I had thought that grounder ceremonies were shorter than this.

I see Bellamy on the other side of the room, frowning in confusion and I see that he’s not alone.

Grounders don’t seem to know what is happening either.

But then I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye and turn my head to see Roan wincing, his right hand trembling and that’s when I realize what is taking place.

I know what they’re doing.

They’re deliberately prolonging the ceremony, hoping that Roan will lose consciousness, that he’ll be shown to be weak before them and embarrass Azgeda.

It’s a cheap move.

One I’m hoping Octavia didn’t agree to.

The king grits his teeth and forces his head up, I suspect he’ll draw on every last reserve of strength and pride before he risks collapsing.

Standing beside him, Wanheda’s eyes flicker to him and she shifts, leaning on a hip and glancing at the fleimkipa with disdain before she pointedly turns her face to the king and lifts her head, whispering into his ear. His lips quirk upwards in humour before he looks down at her, hissing at her to be quiet and she bites back her smile as she faces the fleimkipa with an expression of polite obedience.

But it’s too late.

The crowd has seen the little display, seen Clarke disregard the ceremony, divest herself of the dignity of Wanheda and become a young woman again, and like a gentle breeze blowing across the room, people begin to relax, to murmur to their partners and shift on their feet.

I lift my head to catch Octavia’s eye and make a slicing notion with my hand over my neck, receiving a quick nod in affirmation.

“That’s enough,” she declares, interrupting the fleimkipa, “We all have work to do.”

I wait for her to officially end the meeting, but instead, she strides across the room towards me, and people get the message, gathering in smaller groups or bustling out of the doors.

“That went well.” she murmurs, her voice heavy with sarcasm but I see the nervousness under her façade, she might be the commander, but she was still a young girl.

“You did great,” I assure her, “A true leader.”

Indra joins us and gives her an approving nod, as close to praise as she would get from the Tri-kru warrior.

Over her shoulder, I see Gaia approaching Roan and Clarke, who were standing close to each other, having a hurried conversation and Bellamy is hovering in the corner of the room, hesitating before making his way to Clarke’s side.

This man, who had walked through a grounder army and whom I’d had to physically restrain from charging at Echo when she’d held Clarke at sword-point.

He had never let anything keep him from her side before.

I put my hands on Octavia’s shoulders and step around her, striding over to try and intercept Gaia.

I get there an instant too late.

“You should have been put to death,” she tells Clarke, “That’s the penalty for cheating the Conclave.”

Clarke doesn’t seem the least bit affected, “You aren’t the first person to have wished me dead,” she tells her, “Do you want to know what happened to the others?”

I step in to intervene, because I have no doubt that any daughter of Indra’s would be a skilled fighter, which Clarke most assuredly is not.

“It’s done,” I say to Gaia, “The only thing to do now is move forward.”

Gaia glares at me but glances over my shoulder to where her mother stands and bows her head in farewell, striding from the room and I exhale in relief, noting that the last few members of the crowd seemed to have followed her.

I turn to Roan who is struggling to stay on his feet, his eyelids drooping, Clarke and I move at the same time, each taking an arm as he loses consciousness and we drag him to the corner where we sit him down on the floor, Clarke crouching down and putting the back of her hand to his forehead.

“He’s hot but not running a fever,” she tells me, and I hear Octavia and Indra come up behind us, “Exhaustion and the pain he’s in but nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.”

“Maybe I should have him imprisoned in the med-bay,” Octavia jokes,

“Might be the only way to keep him there.”

Clarke shrugs, standing up, “We can take him back now.”

She twists her body, her eyes darting around the room and she stills, confusion clear in her eyes and I follow her gaze, seeing that aside from us, the area is clear of people.

Bellamy had left.

Without speaking to her.

“I…” she falters and swallows, turning to me with a sudden look of helplessness.

“Can you help me?” she asks, as if expecting me to say no.

I nod, “Of course.” I assure her, bending down to help Roan rise to his feet, he curses and tries to shake me off. I give him water from my flask and he takes a mouthful, pausing as he struggles to swallow and then leans against the wall.

“We’ll have to wait,” he sighs, “If I’m carried back now, there’ll be attacks against Azgeda, people thinking I’m weak.”

“I can walk with you,” Clarke offers, slipping her arm through his, the act casually intimate in stark contrast to the war paint on their faces, “Just like two friends.”

Roan raises an eyebrow and looks down to their connected arms, “Two friends walking to the med-bay, with one in urgent need of care.” He responds drily and behind me, Octavia smirks.

“Good luck.” She says, pivoting on her heel and walking out with Indra only a step behind her.

“What could possibly go wrong?” he asks and I clasp my hands behind my back again,

“Will you two be alright?” I ask, my mind already on other tasks and issues I had to deal with today, but Clarke’s eyes flicker down, “Can you walk with us?” she requests, “Just in case.”

I can’t tell exactly in what sense she needs me, but as long as she needed me, I would be by her side.

And not just because I love Abby.

The halls have cleared of spectators, now the only people in them are those heading somewhere, and though we attract curious glances as we move, there isn’t any of the open hostility Roan and Clarke had faced before.

When we enter the med-bay, Abby is perched on one of the beds, her finger tapping nervously on the sheet and her face lights up when she sees Clarke, reaching for her before she registers that Roan needs her care.

Jackson appears out of nowhere, summoned by Abby and the two of them wrangle Roan onto a bed in the operating theatre in the hope that he wouldn’t be interrupted there.

When we leave him, Abby pulls Clarke into a hug, sighing in relief and I look away politely as the two of them reunite. Clarke hastily reassuring her that she’s fine and I check the clock on the wall.

The ceremony had taken longer than I would have liked and there was so much to be done today…

“Marcus?” Abby takes my hand and we move a few steps away as Clarke strides from the room and Jackson disappears again, “Thank-you, for looking after my girl.” She tells me, kissing my cheek quickly and I frown slightly,

“I will always look after her, Abby,” I reply, “You know this.”

And not just because she was Abby and Jake’s daughter and because I cared for them both, but because I believed in her and because I believe in and love Bellamy too.   

 


	6. Bellamy Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I found out that one of the reasons Bellamy is usually driving the rover is because Bob's the only one who knows how to drive stick, which is all kinds of hilarious.

_Bellamy Blake_

 

Apparently, my sister being Commander means I have some sort of position in Skai-kru again?

I’d been _persona non-grata_ for anyone not a delinquent for a while but nope, day two in the bunker and I’m being approached by adults who for the longest time had looked at me funny for thinking I should have a say in anything that happened on Earth.

_  
“Bellamy, our sleeping quarters are right next to the grounders ones, what if they attack us again?”_

_“Bellamy, why's no-one’s set up the schedules for the guards yet?”_

_“Also, should we even be patrolling the bunker? What about the grounders, do they patrol?”_

_“What about the still, Bellamy? That’s ours, right?”_

  
I want to tell them to get over it, figure it out, and cut back on the drinking but these are questions that need to be answered, problems that need to be solved, and things I can manage to not screw up at least.

Even if I’m half-dead on my feet because I haven’t had time to get a bunk yet.

The bunker was set out with groups of sleeping quarters broken up by what we guessed had once been prayer rooms and we were probably going to turn into meeting rooms or rec areas, and the clans had quickly chosen to segregate the quarters.

Skai-kru’s was next to Tri-kru’s at least, with Indra as their leader and O as their friend and honorary member, they were less likely to come for our heads at night.

Still, I go into their section and try to find Indra, coming across the fleim-kepa instead.

  
“I can speak for her or to her.” she informs me and I shrug,

“Okay, we just want to know that there won’t be any issues of fighting between our two quarters,” I tell her simply, I’m not a diplomat,

“We’re going to be living together for the next five years, we want to get along.”

  
The fleim-kepa eyes me, trying to figure out how this is a trap,

  
“Like you’re getting along with Azgeda?” she suggests,

“Wanheda clearly favours the Ice king.”

  
Yeah, I’d noticed.

  
“We’re going to be serving drinks tonight,” I continue, “You’re all welcome to join us.”

  
She considers me for a long, uncomfortable moment but eventually nods and I nod myself,

  
“Okay, see you then.”

  
I feel eyes on me as I leave, but nothing sinks itself into my back so I consider that a win.

  
Next, I stalk through the Skai-kru sleeping quarters on the hunt for Monty, and also so I can get an idea of who is where.

The adults all seem to be bunking according to the stations they’d lived in on the Ark, which could be a problem later.

The engineers and mechanics are next door to one another, and the dorms only house ten people each but from the looks of things, there’s about twenty-six people sharing there.

The hundred have spread themselves out over five rooms, three consecutive and two on the opposite side of the hall. And already there seems to be some sort of party going on.

I assume that means Jasper either packed up the old still or commandeered the new one.

I walk into the first room with people in it and pick at random, “Chris,” I call and he gets to his feet,

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Monty?”

One of the guys he was sitting with snorts, “Look for him yourself, you lazy prick.”

I put my hands on my hips and turn to him slowly, “Wanna try that again?”

I don’t recognize this guy, which means he wasn’t one of the hundred or ‘delinquents’ as Jasper had called them.

My people either liked me, respected me or feared me too much to insult me to my face.  

He glowers and starts to rise but Chris shakes his head at him, “I…uh…saw him in the girl’s room.” He tells me and I nod, “Thanks.”

The girls have two rooms and one is basically empty, the other has Raven, Emori and Harper, three girls I trust, like and one of whom is dating Monty.

Who is standing on a chair in the middle of the room.

  
“Should I ask?”  

Monty looks down at me with a grin around a mouth full of tools, “Camera.” He mumbles and I wince,

“Is that the only one?”

“You don’t want to know how many we pulled from the showers,” Raven drawled,

“My hands have blisters.”

Well, that wasn’t horrifying at all.

  
I look at each of the beds in turn, noting the rumpled sheets, possessions scattered on or around them and then cup Raven’s elbow, stepping close to her so she doesn’t have to move on her leg,

  
“Hey, do you have a spare bed in here?” I ask and she gives me a little frown,

“Did you not hear that Jaha ordered the quarters to be gender segregated?” she replied and I shook my head,

“Not for me,” I tell her, “For Clarke?”

Raven runs her tongue over her teeth, “She’s not too popular at the moment, but she got Harper and Emori in here, so…yeah, we’ve got a spare bed.”

She looked back up at me, “Does that mean she’s being released?”

  
Clarke had bowed to O, given some speech about pledging allegiance to her and kept Roan from dying on them during the ceremony. If she wasn’t released by tonight, I was breaking her out myself.

I tell Raven as much, because if I am going to be staging a prison break, I’ll probably need her help and she responds with a casual shrug, “Let me know.”

There was a reason I was friends with her.

Hell, I’d even consider her one of the women I loved if I could one day manage not to be panicked at all times about the two current title holders and their almost pathological need to find danger in every day circumstances.

  
“Monty,” I call as he pulls down a bundle of wires with a tiny camera attached,

“I’m gonna need you and Jasper to whip up moonshine tonight for us and Trikru.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Are you giving us permission to throw a rager?”

I nod ruefully, “In the name of peace, we need to give our allies alcohol poisoning.”

He snickers, “I’ll find Jasper after I’m done here, he’s probably taking a nap in our room.”

“I’ll get him,” I volunteer, “Where is his bed?”

“We’re in your quarter.” he tells me and I blink in surprise,

“I have an assigned bunk?”

He shrugs, “I guess? Your stuff was already there when we moved in and your bed was made up.”

  
He directs me to the third quarter across the hall and I step inside cautiously, looking around at the bunks and seeing Jasper’s head of messy hair half buried underneath a blanket.

My bed is the bottom bunk closest to the door, the one I would have chosen because it means that if trouble comes in, I’ll be facing it first. My jacket has been draped on the hook and the sheets tucked in with precision. As if to further lay claim, a book had been laid on the pillow, face up and I look at the title.

‘Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.’

Would it not have just been easier to write _‘Property of Bellamy Blake’_ across the metal railing?

I don’t know how Clarke got my backpack, which I’d left in the tower, underneath the bed as well, but it was there, containing the few possessions I had in this world.

She hadn’t just had me drugged and carried down here, she had done what she could to make me feel like I had a place as well.

Like I belonged.

No-one else would have thought to do this, not O- who admittedly had bigger things to worry about and was one of the reasons I had a bed to begin with- and not Kane, who would have only assigned me sleeping quarters.

Clarke wasn’t going to admit any time soon that what she felt for me went beyond friendship, and I was okay with that, because what she didn’t say aloud, she showed in small actions like this. 

* * *

 

Finding Octavia in the bunker is more difficult than it should be considering she is commander of the damn thing.

But she’s not in her office and not in the food hall and I didn’t know the place well enough to figure where she would be next.

And, I was running on fumes at this point and the radios weren’t working because of the jamming system in place courtesy of the cult, so I found myself in the med-bay before remembering which of my girls I was supposed to be finding. 

At least I had one of them in my sights.

Clarke seemed to be taking inventory with Jackson and arguing with him in hushed tones.

She looks up when I enter and I see traces of the make-up still on her face, hints of lime around her hairline and dark shadows under her eyes that aren’t entirely exhaustion.

“Hey,” she murmurs as greeting, handing off a list to Jackson who somehow manages to disappear the moment I turn my back.

Come to think of it, I have no memory of ever having seen him enter or leave a room.

That’s weird.  
  


“You looking for me or Kane?” Clarke asks and I run my hand over my face to try and wake myself up,

“Uh…” I drawl, “My sister…Octavia.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows and moves around the bed, reaching for my wrist to take my pulse,

“How are you feeling?”

I smirk, “I’m fine, just tired.”

  
She checks her own wrist, an old habit from when she still had her dad’s watch, now she counts the seconds in her head along with the rhythm of my pulse.

  
“She’s not here,” she tells me, “Kane said something about giving her a tour of the bunker?”

  
Great.

So, she could be anywhere.

Well, I needed to speak to Kane anyway, so I might as well try to find them.

Sighing, I lean back, relying on the momentum to keep me going before her hand tugs me back and I glance down at her thumb, pressing into my palm,

“You’re running on adrenaline right now and your heart rate is a little high,” she warns me, “Get some rest.”

My shoulders shake with amusement, “I’ll get on that as soon as you do.”

Add it to the list of things Clarke and I needed to get some day.

Forgiveness, peace, a drink and a decent sleep.

 Speaking of.

“  
You’re bunking with Raven and Harper,” I tell her and she inhales sharply through her nose, leaving me to wonder if she and Raven had had a falling out again.

Although, considering the circumstances when they’d met, that they were friends at all was nothing short of impressive.

“That okay?” I check and she nods,

“Yeah…I…thank-you.”

Her gratitude is heartfelt and she squeezes my fingers before releasing my wrist, and I’m lost and obviously confused, until she gives me a weak smile.

  
“I’m not too popular around here at the moment,” she says, framing it as a self-deprecating joke,

“I was thinking I might have to sleep in here.”

  
I know what it’s like to sleep a few feet away from people whose loyalty to you began and end with your usefulness and I wanted to tell her that I understood but I don’t think I do.

I wasn’t able to have friends growing up because getting close to people risked Octavia, so I’d learnt to get by with little more than people’s acceptance and it hadn’t been until the ground that I’d developed a very short list of people whose opinions I give a damn about.

But Clarke? She had grown up popular and loved, caring about what our people think of her, what our friends think of her.

  
Besides she was only _eighteen_ years old.

It was easy to forget, because of everything we’d been through, everything she and I had done to survive, but she was incarcerated when she was seventeen, her last birthday was sometime around her escape from Mt Weather and she was still a young woman.

She needed their validation and their acceptance, because it was also a way for her to judge just how far gone she was.

I wasn’t a good marking point because I would follow her into hell and set up camp beneath Satan’s throne if she asked it of me.

  
I give her a lopsided smile, “Harper and Emori are in here because of you,” I remind her,

“Sharing a room is the least they can do.”

  
She grimaces and looks away and I know she’s thinking of the rest of our people who are in here because of my choice and her list, the list she had agonized over and that I’d had to put her name to because otherwise, she would never have prioritized her life over another person.

Jackson reappears and diverts Clarke’s attention, so I give her a quick nod and make my exit.

* * *

 

Eventually, I locate Octavia through her retinue, the Trikru warriors watching over her with Indra at the head and Kane towering over her, his mouth at her ear as I’d seen him do with Jaha or Abby a few times.  

If it were any other Ark elder I’d be worried about them corrupting my sister, taking a good commander and turning them into a tyrant, but Kane believed in peace and co-operation over everything.

He wasn’t the same guy he’d been on the Ark.

Then again, none of us who’d survived this long were.

Octavia is busy, so I lift my head and catch Kane’s eye, he raises his chin, murmurs something to my sister and peels away, Indra following him with a quick glance before turning her attention back to O.

Kane crosses the room and puts his hand on my arm, turning us to the corner and he narrows his eyes slightly as he examines me,

  
“You need to rest.” he declares and I resist the urge to point out he’s had about as much sleep as I have.

“Clarke’s free, right?” I ask and his nod, his wordless confirmation is a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders.

  
I didn’t need my sister and Clarke to be best friends forever, with friendship bracelets and matching tattoos or anything, but having them be enemies wasn’t something I could live with.

Not if the lump I’d had in my throat for the last two days had been anything to go by.

Breathe and keep going.

  
“Our guards need a patrol schedule,” I explain, “Or to know whether we should still even be doing them considering we’re not exactly allies with the grounders right now.”

Kane grimaces, putting his hands on his hips, “The sooner we can get routines sorted down here, the better off everyone will be, but you aren’t wrong in saying that the other clans won’t want us walking the halls armed.”

  
A sudden movement has my attention focused on Octavia, but I see that Indra has intercepted the person who had been approaching my sister and she doesn’t seem overly panicked.

Then again, Indra hadn’t even been fazed by nuclear apocalypse.

She’d probably just found it inconvenient.

Still, she gives me an idea.

  
“What if we train grounders and put them on patrols with our people?” I suggest,

“We can have a Grounder liaise with us to select candidates, but once we have them working with us, they’ll be less hostile when they see us in their halls.”

Kane regards me with interest, “That could work,” he mutters, glancing to the crowd,

“I could make Indra the head of security, along with Miller and we could trade training techniques.”

  
He was clearly thinking aloud at this point and I mentally ticked another item off my to-do list and headed over to Octavia.

Only to find a tall, thickset warrior blocking my way and I look up at him in disbelief,

  
“Are you kidding me right now?” I scoff, looking past his tree trunk of an arm to see my sister’s slight frame, “What? O, do I need to make an appointment?”

She smirks and raises an eyebrow, “Maybe.”

“En’s ku,” (It’s okay) she tells him, “Em’s ma bro.” (He’s my brother)

The giant growls in his throat but he steps aside and I take his spot, jerking my head to him,

“Goliath over there isn’t much of a talker.” I mutter and she shrugs,

“He doesn’t need to be,”

“What do you need?” she asks and I lean back a little,

“What? I can’t swing by just to say hi?” I tease and she rolls her eyes, putting a hand on her hip,

“Bell, I have half a dozen people who need answers to questions I haven’t even heard yet, so…”

“We’re having a party later,” I explain, “To make peace with Tri-kru and it’d help if you were there.”

“I wasn’t aware we were at war,” she comments drily, “Has anyone told Kane and Indra yet?”

I smirk, thumbing my nose, “We aren’t, but bonding over bad decisions and hangovers can’t hurt.”

She blinks, “Okay, but we’re also next to Sandkru, we should invite them as well.”

I nod, “I’ll tell Jasper and Monty to brew up more moonshine.”

Her attention is diverted by Indra and I murmur that I’ll see her later.

* * *

 

One of the things my sister had managed to achieve that day had been to set up a shift schedule for the bunker meals.

Communal eating wasn’t a common habit for any of the clans, most of whom had been used to eating when hungry.

Due to rationing, we couldn’t have people eating whenever they wanted, but we also couldn’t have one thousand two hundred people all turning up to eat at the same time.

It had worked once but the kitchen staff had ended the night with blisters, burns and threats of mass poisoning if we ever suggested it again.

Kane had told her that they should stagger the meal times, sending in only sixty people for thirty-minute increments and he’d planned for a clan in shift blocks until she’d asked him to take twenty people from three clans at a time.

He and the other clan leaders had spent the day figuring it out and then informing their people.

It’d probably be about a week before everything was sorted.

But I don’t think it was convenience or coincidence that had Clarke and my dorms dining at the same time.

I stop past the med-bay to find it filled with grounders and guards and I can barely get through the crowd.

I see a flash of blonde and make my way towards it, nearly running into Dr Griffin who cuts across my path, looks me up and down, glares and moves on.

She’s pissed at me.

No prize for guessing why.

Pretty sure when I promised that my sister and I wouldn’t let anything happen to Clarke, imprisonment and threat of trial and execution fell under ‘anything’.

She doesn’t seem concerned about Clarke at the moment though, so I hang back and listen to what she’s saying.

I pick up enough to figure out that these were the healers of the clans and Clarke was trying to set up standard treatments that were an assimilation of grounder and Skai-kru.

She catches my eye and I give her an encouraging smile, she gives me a wry grin and continues talking as one of the guards’ shuffles back towards me,

  
“You guys here for a reason?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth and he grunts,

“We’re here in case anyone tries to kill the king again,” he reports in a whisper and I frown,

“Again?!”

He hums, “Yeah, they tried yesterday and were planning on killing Dr Griffin too, no-one told you?”

  
I shake my head, and I’m guessing Kane had got a watered-down version of events, otherwise Miller’s dad would be the one in here running point, not some of the newer recruits.

When Clarke’s eyes meet mine again, I raise an eyebrow and she sighs, her shoulders squaring and I prepare myself for an argument.

The healers are filing their way from the med-bay their eyes darting between her and the medical equipment and she weaves her way around them to meet me halfway.

  
“Octavia stopped the attempt in time,” she tells me before I can even open my mouth,

“And both my mom and Roan were fine.”

  
If it were anyone else I’d believe them but Clarke had a flexible definition of the term, it could apply to anyone who had survived life-altering surgery, or had a splinter removed and anything in-between.

But I wasn’t going to get anywhere by arguing with her, so I let the matter drop, make a mental note to tell Kane and jerk my head to the corridor,

  
“It’s time for us to eat.”

  
She nods and falls in beside me, walking in step as we’d been doing for the better part of a year now, to the point where I almost automatically measured space and distance for both of us instead of just myself.

She swallows nervously, hesitating the tiniest bit as we approach the food hall and I slow down before I even register the movement,

  
“Hey…” I murmur, giving her a ghost of a smile,

“Come on, I’m starving.”

  
We’re not the last ones into the cafeteria, but our entrance is noted by a lot of the people already seated and a few in the queue and I have a moment of concern before I see Monty at the end of the line.

His casual greeting goes a long way to calming Clarke down but she still gave more attention to the kitchen and the servers than strictly necessary, clearly looking for a way to avoid conversation, so I cover for her with Monty. 

  
“Any trouble?” I ask him under my breath as we shuffle down the line, causing him to snort,

“Seriously?! We’ve barely had time to unpack, let alone cause trouble…although there was a tense moment when Jasper commandeered the still, but considering that I am the one best equipped to run it, there wasn’t much protest.”

I grin, “So, we’re all set for tonight?”

He nods, “Yep, diplomatic drunkenness scheduled for…right after dinner.”

  
Monty looks over his shoulder and I follow his gaze to see our people have spread out over two tables with Harper having claimed four seats.

There’s a pause in the conversation when we approach and I’m having my own moment of near uncertainty before Murphy pipes up,

  
“So,” he drawls, “I’m trying to explain the cameras to Emori,” he says, waving his fork around,

“But either something is getting lost in translation or I’m not explaining it properly, because she keeps freaking out.”

  
Emori glowers a little at this and Clarke and I sit down, picking up our utensils and starting on our food.

  
“Well,” she comments, her voice almost casual, “Considering those cameras were in the showers, so I’d say Emori is right to be freaked out.”

Miller shudders, “Don’t remind me,” he groans, “You know the cameras weren’t removed from our bathroom until after I’d showered?! I feel violated man.”

  
The conversation quickly becomes normal again and I hide my grin as Clarke leans past me to chat with Harper.

Our delinquents hadn’t turned on her.

We were good.

 


	7. Monty Green

_Monty Green_

 

You can make alcohol out of anything if you’re determined enough.

But it sure does help if the cult that built the bunker had stashed away bottles of liquor that had been gathering dust for the last ninety-seven years.

I’d never heard of the brand or the kind of liquor but Kane had told me that at its current age, it would have been worth thousands of American dollars before the first nuclear fallout.

And tonight, it was going to be drunk by a bunch of grounders who’d never had a monetary system and teenage delinquents who’d be just as happy to drink whatever crap I brewed up in the still.

But, if it meant less work for me, then I wasn’t going to complain.

As it was, I already had my hands full.

Raven was still recovering from her brain reset, not that she was admitting it to anyone, but when she got tired, she came to me to do the physical stuff for her.

There were six survivors from farm station down in the bunker, so we’d all need to pitch in to get the algae farms up until we could grow the fruit, vegetables and herbs to sustain one thousand two hundred people for five years.

And then there was Jasper.

He hadn’t wanted to come down to the bunker, he and some of the others from Arkadia had been planning to drink themselves stupid and wait for the radiation to kill them, unfortunately, Clarke had had other plans which had included sending Ice-Nation warriors to our camp to grab those that made her list of necessary personnel and bring them here.

Raven had been the one to tell me he was here and I’d found him curled up in a bunk bed, staring at nothing and silently weeping at having had his most basic choice to live or die taken away from him.

There wasn’t anything I could say, as much as I hated Clarke for once again deciding who lived and who died, I was so grateful that my best friend had made the cut. So, I’d just sat on the ground beside his bed until he’d fallen asleep.

But I wasn’t going to let Bellamy know that Jasper was sleeping through the day when he’d asked for us to prep alcohol for a party.

If you needed to be rescued from a mountain with psychotic doctors and dictators, Bellamy was the guy you wanted on your side.

If you needed to be rescued from the darkness of your own mind, he was about as helpful as a daffodil.

Pretty to look at but you couldn’t use him for anything.

Jasper and I had come up with that joke one night and sworn not to tell anyone else. I’m not sure how much our fearless leader would enjoy being compared to a flower.

Or maybe it’d just go over his head and he’d have a moment of confusion before telling us to get back to work.

That was Bellamy through and through, even when Murphy had been lynching him he’d been more concerned about the wall going up and back when Arkadia was still being built, every morning those of the hundred still alive had found themselves being ‘volunteered’ by him for something.

I think I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen him stand still.

And now isn’t one of those times.

He barrels into our prayer-room turned meeting-room turned temporary bar and looks around at the people bringing in the extra chairs and tables and in the corner where Raven was patching together a sound system for the few mp3s that had come from Mt Weather.  
  


“You need anything?” he demands of me and I raise my head from the still where I was filling the glasses Harper had brought from the kitchen.

“We’re almost ready,” I respond, “Are we gonna have a toast or just start drinking?”

Bellamy shrugs and wipes his mouth,

“Screw formalities, last toast we had with Trikru nearly saw Raven executed, let’s start drinking.”

  
He helps himself to two of the glasses, looking around and I see Clarke coming into the room, making her way straight towards him and I’m guessing she didn’t see some of the dirty looks she was getting.

Or maybe she didn’t care.

He holds out one to her and she takes it with a wry grin,

  
“Looks like we’re finally getting that drink.” He murmurs and the two of them clink glasses before they throw back the alcohol, not even wincing as it burns down their throats.

  
People start filing into the room, Trikru and Skai-kru together, Indra and Kane approach the still and the grounders wait with baited breath as Indra sips the drink,

  
“It tastes like poison.” she whispers to Kane and I have a moment of panic before he chuckles,

“It won’t kill you,” he responds, good-naturedly, “But it’ll make you wish it had.”

  
She throws back the rest and Kane sips at his drink before putting it back on the counter.

Rumour has it that he used to be an alcoholic and I’ve never seen him do more than sip for a toast so I’m thinking there might be some truth to that.

Must have been nice to be able to afford to eat and to trade rations for alcohol.

Harper sidles up to me and her hand darts out, snatching Kane’s drink and they share a grin as she finishes it off.

  
“I preferred your last recipe.” she whispers in my ear, kissing my cheek and I blush,

“Ask me nicely and it’ll be my next batch.”

  
She giggles under her breath and takes my hand briefly, squeezing it before she heads over to chat with Raven.

The room is getting full now, more grounders and Ark people pouring in, and I line up as many shots as we have glasses and then step back as one of the guards pushes me out of the way.

Even though we were now two hundred and forty-eight miles removed from the parts of Ark station still orbiting the Earth, some of the guards still strutted around like they owned the place.

They were all too happy to commandeer the still until they realised that I was the only one who could brew decent moonshine, at which point they got super friendly again.

The way the liquor was being thrown back, I’d be getting sweet talked by one of them in an hour, give or take.

Until then, I wandered through the crowd, seeing people I recognized and some I definitely didn’t but who looked as close to friendly as we were going to get from grounders.

Around me, people still and look to the doors and I follow their gaze to see Octavia entering and behind her, Jasper, shuffling along and looking absolutely exhausted.

 

“Hey,” I call, making my way over to them both, “What are you doing here?”

Octavia raises an eyebrow, “Nice way to greet your new Commander.” she quips and I roll my eyes,

“Not you, although nice to see you,” I reply, putting my hand on her arm as an experiment.

 

Jasper and I had been Octavia’s first real friends on the ground, or ever, and we’d been good friends, especially once Jasper had realized that he didn’t stand a chance in hell winning her heart from Lincoln. She had always been physically affectionate with us both, ruffling our hair, hugging us, poking us in the ribs, but that had been before Pike.

Landing on the ground had made us all grow up fast, but losing Lincoln had made Octavia cold.

I had planned on being there for her in the same way I was there for Jasper, but she’d pulled away from everyone, even literally by running off into the forest until the conclave had been called.

Still, if she started looking for a way back I’d be there.

She doesn’t shake off my hand so I’m thinking progress was being made. 

 

“Didn’t think you’d come.” I say to my best friend, who merely shrugs,

“When have I ever missed a party?” he asks, “If you need me, I’ll be at the still.”

“Go easy,” I warn him, “You missed dinner.”

 

He shrugs again and I can already see myself holding his head as he empties his stomach into the toilet later.

 

I lose him in the crowd and turn back to Octavia, “Drink?”

She grins, snatching mine out of my hand and throwing it back,

“That’s awful,” she coughs, shaking her head, “Get me another.”

 

Octavia is given a wide berth as we move through the room, but there doesn’t seem to be any hostility aimed at her, more like people are just respectfully keeping out of her way.

Somehow, I can’t find Harper, instead ending up in the corner with Raven, who is arguing with a grounder,

 

“Your music sounds like a bad death.” the man growls and Raven gives him a cold smirk,

“Your face looks like a bad death.” She counters and Octavia and I wait until the man stomps off before sitting down,

“Making friends I see.” Octavia comments and Raven chuckles, tilting her head to see past my body,

“He was a little too cute for friendship,” she replies, “Would you settle for a one-night stand?”

“I don’t think I want to hear this conversation,” I interject, looking around for a distraction and seeing it not even twenty metres away.

 

Bellamy and Clarke were huddled together in a corner, their backs to the wall as they watched the party, his head was bent down so he could hear her and even though I couldn’t pick up on what they were saying, I recognized the vibes.

Most of us did. 

Bellamy and Clarke were having one of those intense conversations where the entire world disappeared for them, when all they saw was each other and what everyone else saw was two people deeply in love and deeply in denial about it.

We- the hundred- used to call it funny or adorable.

That was before we realised just how many people they were hurting and using in the process and just how far they were willing to go to protect each other.

What would we do when they finally admitted that they were in love?

Something heavy knocks my back and I jump, nearly spilling my drink as Jasper drops down beside me, so close we’re pretty much sharing the same seat.

 

“This tastes terrible,” he announces, sticking out his tongue,

“Monty, were you high when you made it? Because you should have woken me up for that.”

I grimace and take another sip, “Nope, it’s mostly bottles of liquor we found around the bunker, mixed together.”

“The same liquor, right?” Clarke asks, having caught the last part of the conversation, as she and Bellamy came up. Octavia goes still for a moment, which catches Raven’s attention before she finishes her drink.

“Because if it’s mixed, mom and I should start prepping the med-bay now.”

I raise my eyebrows, “Really? You think I would whip up space juice at a party filled with first time drinkers? How evil do you think I am?”

Bellamy smirks as he brings over two seats and the two of them go down almost closer than Jasper and I.

“Evil enough to find satisfaction in the collective hangovers tomorrow.” he mutters and I nod with just a hint of pride,

“Yeah, maybe.”

Clarke bites her lip and looks around the room,

“As long as people can remember having a good time…”

I look around and don’t see any reason to be concerned, people are standing or sitting in groups, drinking and talking loudly over the music.

“O,” Bellamy lifts his chin and waits until Octavia makes eye contact, “Think you could get Indra to introduce us to some people?”

Octavia leans back in her chair, tilting her head slightly but Jasper speaks first,

“Seriously? Would it kill you two to relax for five minutes? I’m honestly curious.” He asks and I run my tongue around my teeth as I consider whether I should intervene.

 

Clarke is well overdue for a reality check but it’s probably not the best time with us all drinking and Bellamy sitting right next to her.

 

“We are relaxed,” Clarke lies smoothly, “We just want to meet some people.”

Jasper laughs, “And you think they’ll want to meet you? Wanheda, the mass murderer who would have killed them all?”

“Jasper,” Bellamy enunciates his name clearly, “Cool it.”

I drape an arm over his shoulders and feel the tension across his back, the pain and fury I can see in his eyes “Come on,” I say, “Let’s get another drink.”

 

He shakes me off and I fumble the drink in my hand, some of it splashing onto my pants and Octavia, causing her to shift away from me slightly and I catch her eye, silently asking her why she’s not intervening but she doesn’t speak up.

 

“What right do you have,” Jasper begins, as Raven adjusts the stereo so that his voice is lost amidst bass and inaudible for anyone not sitting across or next to him.

“To decide who lives and dies, Clarke? And to put yourself in charge of our people, to demand our respect or loyalty and to pretend that you’re deserving of either?”

 

Bellamy looks like he’s only a few seconds away from punching my best friend in the face and I get ready to put myself between the two of them, but Clarke reaches out, touching his knee and stilling him.

“I’m aware of who I am and what I’ve done,” she answers, her voice calm even as I see her index finger tremble against her cup,

“I’m aware that I’m not a good person and perhaps I wasn’t the best person to lead our people, but I was one of the only people willing to do whatever it took and sacrifice everything in the process.”

“Not everything.” Octavia points out and Clarke turns to her, a flash of surprise in her eyes,

“Not everything.” She echoes, nodding,

“But I bore the deaths, my choices and the consequences so nobody else had to.”

Clarke seems to have forgot that she wasn’t the only one in the control room at Mt Weather, that it wasn’t just her hand that had pulled the lever. But I suppose it’s hard to remember when nobody else does.

 

“Wanheda?”

She answers to the title as easily as she answers to her name, looking up at the grounder approaching from the side, “May I speak with you?”

She nods quickly, “Yeah, sure.”

 

She hands off her drink to Bellamy and stands, putting her hand on his shoulder for balance before following the grounder from the room.

I know that the issue isn’t over and I turn back to Bellamy as he gets up himself, looking down at Jasper,

“I know you’re hurting,” he tells him, “Believe me, I know what it is to lose someone and to hate what we’ve had to become to survive, but until you find someone willing to take on the burden and to do the things Clarke has had to do for Skai-kru, for us, either shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

I glare at up him but he doesn’t even blink, “We’re down here for the next five years and every damn day we’re going to be tested in ways we haven’t even thought about yet, we need to stick together and support Octavia as Commander, otherwise we’re all screwed.”

“Way to turn that around,” Raven muttered as he stalked off and she raised her cup to Octavia,

“I support you, oh fearless leader.” she intones gravely and surprisingly, Octavia snickers,

“Great,” she replies, “One down, one thousand one hundred and ninety-nine to go.”

I reach over and put my hand on her knee, “Hey,”

“Whatever you need,” I tell her, “I’m here.”

She grins and nods, “I know.”

And for a second, I see a hint of the old Octavia. 


	8. Harper McIntyre

Harper McIntyre

 

The trick is to keep breathing.

_  
In. One, two, three._

_Out. One, two, three._

  
Keep breathing and find somewhere quiet.

Nobody needs to see me breaking down.

Everything is fine.

I am fine.

If I keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll work.

Or maybe not.

  
Five years.

Five years trapped down in this bunker.

  
I had been ready to end it all with Jasper, to be free of this guilt, this fear, this day-to-day exhaustion and the never-ending issues.

I wasn’t supposed to have survived.

  
Clarke hadn’t put me on her list.

I was one of the hundred, I had survived Mt Weather and worked with her to defeat ALIE, but apparently, I was too much of a risk medically and not skilled enough to warrant a place in her post-post-apocalyptic world.

I was alive now because she had worked out some deal with the Ice-Nation but that doesn’t make up for the fact that my survival had been because of opportunity and sheer luck instead of friendship or loyalty.

I was alive and Louis, who’d reached for me that day in Arkadia was dead.  

I need to be alone right now, which isn’t really an option in an enclosed space where I don’t know the layout and our living area is currently overflowing with grounders who’ve practically been ordered to drink whatever Monty brews up.

  
Monty.

My boyfriend?

The guy who loved me and who I’d broken up with because I’d planned to end my life alongside his best friend.

How the hell were we supposed to come back from that?

Right now, I was pretending like the few wild days before we were kidnapped and dragged into the bunker hadn’t happened and he was too busy to find time to call me on it right now, but soon…

Soon, he would hate me for what I’d been willing to do to him.

  
I wander through the halls, sticking my head through every open door until I find what is pretty much a glorified storage room.

I step inside and disrupt a couple of Ark teens I don’t know and when the girl looks to ream me out, I stare her down until she recognizes me for what I am.

One of the hundred.

There had always been a social hierarchy on the Ark and it had followed us down to the Earth, but after Mt Weather it had got shaken up.

  
After Kane, the two most powerful people in camp had been Clarke and Bellamy.

Both criminals, who’d relied on the hundred for support.

The teens who hadn’t come down with us didn’t get to look down on us for our past, not when we’d done more to earn our places in this living hell.

  
“Out,” I tell them, “Go get drunk.”

They shuffle out and I close the door behind them, inching my way around boxes and crates until I find a shelf to crawl behind, sinking down with relief and wrapping my arms around my knees.

  
Inhale. One, two, three.

Exhale. One, two, three.

  
I’m finally starting to calm down when the door opens and I nearly scream at the people intruding on my space before hearing their voices and realizing that it’s not horny teens.

  
“Could we not have had this conversation in the infirmary?” Clarke asks and I can see her through a small space in the shelf, perching herself on a crate beside the Ice King.

“There’s not even enough room for me to bleed in here,” He grumbles as they’re followed in by two more people.

“What business does Delfikru and Sankru have with us?”

  
The two people, a man and a woman, have their backs to me, so I can see the swords they’re carrying across their shoulders.

Clarke doesn’t look like she’s carrying a weapon, because Bellamy usually has her six and I wonder where he is now.

  
“We watched you two today,” the woman begins, “Your defiance of the new Commander…”

They’d defied Octavia?!

“We meant no disrespect to Octavia,” Clarke interrupts, “Only the ceremony.”

The man grunts before speaking, “If you were defying the new Commander, if you disagreed with her rule, there are those of us who would support you.”

I see Clarke and Ice King exchange a glance, and my blood runs cold.  

“You both hate Azgeda,” he points out, “Our tribes have been at war since before any of us were born. Either of you would have jumped at the chance to slit my throat when I was commander.”

“That was before the power was claimed by the Skai-ripa,” the woman answered, “She wants to take our tribes, our traditions and our markings away from us and turn us into Won-kru? Our ancestors blood was not spilled for Ogeda, but for Delfikru and Sankru.”

“Are Delfikru and Sandkru the only two tribes that feel this way?” Clarke asks, “Or are there others?”

The two grounders look to each other, “For now, it is us, but soon there will be more.”

“And who would be commander after Octavia?” the ice king asks, “Not me?”

The two shake their heads, “Wanheda is the last nitblida (night blood), it is her duty to lead us.”

Clarke clears her throat and glances down at her crossed arms, “My absence will be noticed,” is all she says, “I have to get back to the celebration.”

 

She doesn’t say no.

She doesn’t tell them to go float themselves.

I knew she was willing to let me burn but Octavia?

Was she really willing to sacrifice Bellamy’s own sister?

Because I’m pretty sure the Grounders weren’t going to vote Octavia out like we did with our Chancellors, this position seemed like something you couldn’t just quit.

In fact, I’m pretty sure losing it would cost Octavia her life.

The two grounders leave and when the door closes, Clarke sighs, dropping her head and taking two steps before turning back to the ice king,

 

“Are you okay to get back to the infirmary?”

He shrugs, “Do I have a choice?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow for the next crisis, Wanheda.”

She smirks and I’m feeling a burning in the pit of my stomach.

  
Who the hell is this person in front of me? She looked like the Clarke Griffin that rescued Jasper right after we landed and saved his life, she looked like the girl who’d fought to get us out of the mountain but that girl would have risked her life to save Octavia.

Not kill her.

I have to find Bellamy.

* * *

 

The party is even more chaotic than when I left, the pounding music and the press of people in the room making me feel claustrophobic as I try and push my way through.

I hug the walls and still manage to collide with half a dozen people, including the same couple from before who were practically having sex at this point.

Raven is sitting by the speakers, her leg propped up on the lap of a grounder I’ve never seen before and she’s giving him a look that it’s not the only thing that will end up in his lap tonight.

I tap her on the shoulder and lean in to press my mouth to her ear, “Where’s Bellamy?”

We’re right near the sound system so she doesn’t hear me properly, “What?”

“Bellamy!” I shout and she looks around as if he’s supposed to be sitting right next to her.

Guessing Monty’s alcohol is stronger than we realized.  

“By the bar!” she practically screams in my ear and I wince.

It’s probably the most crowded part of the room.

I don’t stand a chance of reaching him.

And I need air.

Screw Bellamy.

Although, if previous ragers are anything to go by, there’s probably a line for that by now.

The hallway is pretty crowded as well and I step back to avoid colliding with two guards, tripping and losing my footing.

  
Hands clasp my shoulders and keep me upright, “I’ve got you,”

Kane smiles as he releases me, “Are you alright?”

  
I nod and steal a glance at him as I try to figure out whether I should tell him what I overheard.

Kane is either Bellamy or Octavia’s biological father but he’s also sleeping with Clarke’s mom and is from Phoenix station, so he could just as easily tell me to go float myself.

Besides, he’s standing next to the Trikru leader, Indra, and if she finds out that Clarke is planning to overthrow Octavia, she might just go ahead and kill her.

And I don’t think Clarke deserves to die for this.

  
I give him a tight smile and tuck my hair behind my ear nervously, “I’m…uh…just gonna get some air.”

  
In an underground bunker.

I roll my eyes at my own stupidity as I walk off, swerving at the last minute as I decide to head to my room to try and think.

Except it seems to be part of the party area too.

The sleeping quarter is filled with delinquents and a few grounders, I recognize Niylah and Emori tucked onto the bed she claimed earlier, with Murphy sitting on the ground in front of her.

Clarke is sitting on a top bunk, next to Bellamy, their legs swinging in the empty space, smiling at each other and I know in that moment that if I accused her of anything, I don’t think Bellamy would believe me.

Clarke notes my entrance and we lock eyes as she waits for me to say something, I just wait her out.

  
“If you’re looking for Monty, he’s in his room with Jasper,” she tells me, “I think he drank too much.”

“Okay,” I shrug, “At least he’s not the only one making stupid decisions tonight.”

  
She wears the same smirk on her face that she had with the ice king and I’ve never wanted to actually smack someone before, but I think bitch slapping her might be good for me.

I barely set foot in the boys’ room before I hear the sound of vomiting from the bathroom and my gag reflex kicks in as I cover my nose and mouth.

I manage to make it to the bathroom door to see Jasper draped over the toilet while Monty rubs his back, “Okay buddy,” he says soothingly, “Get it all out.”

I backtrack into the sleeping quarters and wait for Monty to bring Jasper out, helping him undress and tucking him into bed.

On impulse, I kiss his forehead, “Sleep well.”

Monty leans against the frame of the bunkbed, running his hands over his face and I lean against him, putting my head on his shoulder.

The door is still open and we watch the people moving past until I see a familiar head of dark hair. Octavia stops, looks at as both and then keeps walking but I’m getting ready to chase after her when I realise that Monty is talking to me.

“…have to talk about what happened at Arkadia, Harper…” he trails off when he sees that I’m not listening.   

“I’m really sorry,” I tell him, “But…I can’t talk about this right now, I swear, we will talk later.”

Monty looks disappointed in me, which is the worst feeling in the world, but if I had to talk to anyone, it was Octavia.

Everything always had to take second place to Clarke’s drama.

 


	9. Roan kom Azgeda

_Roan kom Azgeda_

 

Clarke’s mother, the mother of a princess, but a woman who was not a queen, or the consort of a king, greets my return to the sick room with a murderous glare my own mother would never have dared give me.

“Back to bed,” she orders- _orders_ \- me, “Now!”

If I had not left my guard standing outside the door, there is a chance she would have a sword at her throat for the disrespect she shows me.

I move slowly, not to show that I choose to follow her directive, but because every part of my body aches or stings.

Her servant steps forward and helps me remove the cloak I had worn for my journey through the bunker, keeping my face hidden for secrecy and for pride.

The surfaces and objects in this bunker show clearly that my skin is scarred and marked in a way even our warriors would find grotesque.

I had still been a child when I had been branded to declare me the prince of Azgeda and I had been unwilling to leave my room for days afterward and avoided the still surface of water for weeks, touching the tender flesh of my face with shaking fingers.

I had thought then that the pain was the worst thing I would ever experience, that was before I discovered how black rain burns and sizzles on the skin.

I sink into the bed and try to get comfortable, drawing the thin blanket up to my waist as the servant checks my bandages and stitches.

 

“You really need to stop moving about.” he tells me and I raise my eyebrows,

“Tell that to the women of Skai-kru,” I growl, “They are the ones who refuse to let me rest.”

 

And an honourable death.

I lie back, closing my eyes to avoid further conversation and the lights in the sick room dim, shadows lengthening like a rapidly setting sun until the light is like an overcast afternoon where the grey is muddied.

I had never seen the light like that until I had been banished from my home, there, the light was always brightly reflecting off the snow or the sky silver in the depths of winter.

Here the false light does not tell you the time of day, but when Clarke had fetched me, the way she had spoken implied it was evening. Yet, despite my pain and exhaustion, I am unable to sleep.

In Azgeda, the night was filled with the harsh winds blustering against our homes, rattling against anything not secured tightly enough, in the lands I’d wandered in my exile, there was always the song of night birds, the nattering of bugs and the growls of predators, in Polis, the sounds had been of crackling fires, people bustling about throughout the night and fights breaking out in the streets.

Here, there was a constant hum and buzzing that sounded like an endless drone of bees.

It made me think of the sharp sting, the smell of wood smoke used to stun the small creatures and then the sweet, sticky honey and the way the comb stuck my jaw shut and caught in my teeth for days afterward.

There would be no honey down in this bunker.

 

I hear the sound of blunt knife scraping against smooth rock, the sound of the door sliding into the wall and it is followed by the voices of Octavia and Kane.

The Chancellor.

At first, I had thought Chancellor was another word for heda (commander) or wormana (war chief) or perhaps even haihefa (king). That was before I had befriended Clarke and realized that the title meant nothing.

Skai-kru had as much order to their clan as a school of salmon caught in a fishing net.

It seemed that every few months they had a new leader.

And the powers of that leader seemed to wax and wane according to the cycle of the moon.

It was the reason that Tri-kru alone bothered trading and dealing with them.

As far as Echo and I had managed to figure out, Marcus Kane had usurped the madman Jaha and risen to power, he had lost that power to his war chief Pike, but had regained it by forming an alliance with Clarke’s mother, the healer. Perhaps Clarke’s father had been a king, which was why she was a princess, and why she was able to make decisions and treaties on behalf of Skai-kru.

Except that Bellamy was Kane’s son and didn’t have the same power, and his daughter had been fostered to Tri-kru, and would have married into the tribe, not following in his footsteps.

Echo’s theory had been that the alliance Kane had made with Clarke’s mother was reliant on Clarke becoming Chancellor after his death, in place of his son.

What kind of man would rob his son of his birthright?

Even my mother had not been that cruel.

Octavia strides over to my bed, followed by a blonde girl who is not Clarke.

I remember that she was at Arkadia when I was there as a prisoner turned ally against ALIE, but I’d never bothered learning her name.

To me, she was not-Clarke.

Yet, she glares at me with a burning fury I had seen Clarke wear when I’d captured her and dragged her through the forest to Polis.

 

“He just got back,” Abby declares as I start pushing myself into a sitting position, muscles in my back protesting the decision, “Can this wait til morning?”

“If we don’t deal with it now, I might not be Commander by morning,” Octavia snaps, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword, “Heard you’re planning a coup.”

I don’t know the word but I can guess the meaning.

“Where is Wanheda?” I ask, “She can tell you what you need to know.”

“She’s on her way,” Octavia answers, “But I want to hear it from you.”

I want to remind her that I don’t answer to her, except that I do. She is Heda and Azgeda is part of the coalition.

Even if she is no Lexa.

“There are those who are unhappy with your rule,” I report, “They seek to overthrow you and undo this…Wonkru of yours.”

Octavia growls, “And they want you and Clarke to help them?”

I nod, “She is the last nitblida (nightblood) left, even if her blood was turned black by science and her enemies do have a habit of dying.”

“Why you though?” Not-Clarke demands of me, “Everyone hates the Ice-nation.”

She had a sharp tongue.

I almost wish my guards had disobeyed my order to stand outside so one of them could threaten to cut it out.

“My guess?” I offer, “Azgeda has the most warriors in the bunker, as we did not have time to send for our tradespeople before Praimfaya.”

 

Skai-ripa turns her back sharply, pacing a few steps away as her fists clench and she seems more upset by this plotting than I would have suspected.

The door slides open again and Kane and Abby look up as Clarke stumbles in, looking dazed as if she’d suffered a head injury.

I pick up the sharp, unpleasant scent of the moonshine that Skai-kru drank when they weren’t pouring it over their wounds or using it to start fires.

It affected their ability to walk and talk, leaving them weak or ill and yet they had it at every celebration.

They deliberately poisoned themselves and yet somehow, kept surviving on the ground.

 

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asks, resting her hand on the bed and blinking in surprise when she encounters my foot.

Octavia’s jaw drops and she stares at her, “What’s wrong? Other than you and Roan being part of a plot to overthrow me?”

Clarke huffed and glared at me, “I thought we weren’t going to tell her yet?”

I shrug, “I didn’t, I thought you did,”

“I did,” Not-Clarke announces, “I overheard you two plotting with the grounders.”

Plotting?

Clarke frowns, “Overheard us? We were in a storage-room, were you eavesdropping?”

“She was hidden in the room,” I tell her, “I thought you knew?”

Were Clarke’s own people spying on her now?

She shakes her head, “No, I didn’t see her.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Not-Clarke said, “Otherwise Octavia wouldn’t have found out until they were coming for her head.”

Clarke scoffs, “Harper, did you honestly think I would stage a coup against Octavia? I was going to tell her what was going on once I had more information, right now, all we have is a few disgruntled grounders, no plan, no idea of what they’re going to do next…”

 

Sitting up is hurting my ribs and I shift the pillows so I can lean back against them,

 

“In the days leading up to the coalition, Lexa had five attempts on her life and probably three times that number of plots to replace her as Commander,” I recall,

“She figured out which threat was the greatest danger and acted against them, that was my mother, the Queen and led to my banishment,” I catch Octavia’s eye, “That is what you should do.”

Octavia crosses her arms, “Right now, the greatest threat to me is you and Clarke.”

“Then you’re the safest Commander since Becca Praim heda,” I comment,

“I couldn’t life a sword to defend my own life right now, I could not lead my army and Clarke would not be so foolish as to overthrow a Skai-kru commander, not when whomever fought beside her would kill her and her people the moment she was no longer useful.”

“He’s right,” Clarke agrees, “Octavia, you should let us meet with Delfikru and Sankru again, we can find out who is the main threat and figure out how to deal with them.”

“And what?” Octavia shrugged, “I’m supposed to hope you succeed?”

“I can speak to Indra,” Kane announces, walking over,

“Find out what Lexa did to remain in power.”

“I can tell you that,” I note, “Before the coalition, she built alliances with Delfikru and Trishanakru, the two tribes with territories closest to Trikru and Polis, if the coalition had failed, those two armies would have joined under Anya kom Trikru to occupy the city and protect her.”

Kane nods to me, “Let me speak with Indra,” he requests, “Find out who would be willing to ally with us.”

“We shouldn’t be discussing alliances at all!” Octavia snaps, “I let everyone into this bunker because we were no longer going to be tribes and clans but one people!”

“Change takes time,” Kane says smoothly, even though Skai-kru went through changes more rapid than seasons, “It won’t happen overnight.”

She breathes through her nose and glances at the floor before looking up again,

“Fine, but Clarke, I better not hear about crap like this from anyone other than you again.”

Clarke shrugs, “Fine.”

She turns to me, “You…stop walking around the bunker until Abby actually clears you to leave the infirmary. I have enough problems without you dying.”

I snort, “Yes, heda.”

 

She strides out with Not-Clarke on her heels and Clarke sits down on the bed, on my foot which I have to move, Kane puts his hands on her shoulders,

“You did your best but you have to remember that Octavia is our Commander now, ultimately we answer to her.”

She swallows and crosses her arms, not responding until he comes around the side of the bed, closer to me, at which point she leaves.

 

“I did wish to speak to you as well.” Kane says and I feel exhaustion in the back of my neck,

“Can it wait?” I ask, “Or is it as urgent as everything always is with your people?”

He chuckles, glancing down in the same manner his son does when amused, “I’m sorry, but it’s regarding the trial of Echo kom Azge…”

“I banished her,” I interrupt quickly, “She is no longer Azgeda, no longer my people.”

He swallows, “Then you should know, her trial will take place tomorrow, in the afternoon and…if found guilty, she will be sentenced to death.”

“By earth, fire, water, sword or…air?” I ask and he stares at me blankly.

“Either learn our ways from Indra or stop interfering,” I snap, “It was bad enough before Octavia became Commander, now it’s disrespectful.”

He puts his hands on his thighs, pushing himself up, “Very well, you are welcome to attend the trial if you are well enough to.”

I won’t be.

“Leave me,” I order, deliberately forgetting that I am not his king.

“Now.”

When he is gone, the lights dim again and I feign sleep, hoping that everyone will grant me rest for the night.

 

The air tastes disgusting.

The water tastes metallic.

I miss Azgeda.

I miss the cold.

I miss life before Skai-kru ever fell from space.

Everything made so much more sense before them.

Even our wars seemed less chaotic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in my story Jasper is alive, but for those who are interested, I also wrote a short drabble about Jasper finding peace after Season 4.


	10. Bellamy Blake

_Bellamy Blake_

 

I had forgotten how much worse artificial light was for a hangover.

Give me blinding sunlight any day, at least that came with fresh air and a large source of water nearby to dunk my head in.

Consciousness comes back to me slowly, but it comes with the knowledge that wherever I am, there’s no-one else in my immediate space.

Small mercies.

I tend to be slutty when I’m drunk.

I quietly moan as I roll onto my back and stare up at the bed frame above me.

My head is pounding and I figure out that not all of it is internal, reaching up slowly I run my fingers along my scalp until I encounter a large bump and a scab.

A vague memory of whacking my head on something last night, possibly falling over…

It’s never fun trying to reach back into the recesses of your mind for your last memory before the blackout, but it’s better to recall yourself rather than have to get the report from Monty with a side of judgement.

Then again, at least he’ll tell you what happened. Miller divulges information a sentence at a time over weeks and months. At which point it’s too late to know who you should have apologized to and who you should have avoided.

I try to remember if I have anything to do today and assume that I’ll need to report to Kane at some point.

After breakfast.

Which, going by the red automatic clock on the wall, I’ve missed.

The door slides open and the hallway light is even harsher than the one in the bedroom.

“Bellamy…” a voice croaks, “Are you alive?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I groan, “Give me some time to figure it out.”

Clarke trudged over and held up a plate, “Convinced the kitchen staff to let me bring you breakfast, but I promised them that you’d bring it back.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I love her, but instead I settle for a smile and a mumble of thanks, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed as she leant against the bed post.

“Any fatalities last night?” I ask, picking at the food and she snorts,

“Jasper is asleep in the party room, along with a few grounders, even though I thought Monty cut him off, Monty is in Harper’s bed, Raven is…probably somewhere in Trikru quarters, Miller…”

“Is perfectly fine?” I guess, “Walking around as if he’d stuck to water and slept a solid eight hours?”

“You’re not wrong,” Clarke confirmed, “Hard not to hate him for it, especially when he drank as much as I did.”

“How are you?” I ask, “Up and around?”

She grimaces, “I had some sobering experiences last night.”

Even hungover, I don’t miss that, feeling a jolt of adrenaline wake me up as I meet her eyes,

“Anything I need to know?” I ask carefully and she opens her mouth before hesitating, finally she shakes her head, “Not yet…maybe later.”

“Clarke,” I speak her name slowly, giving her time to glance away and back at me,

“Are we in danger?”

She manages a small smile and shakes her head at me, “Just some politics, we’ll be fine.”

There’s that word again.

Fine.

But if Clarke doesn’t want to talk, I won’t be getting anything out of her.

I just have to trust that she will do what’s best for our people.

She clears her throat and sips at the cup of water in her hand before her eyes go wide and she hands it to me, “This is yours.”   

“Are you thirsty?” I ask, ready to share if she needed.

She shakes her head, “No…uh…”  she sighs, “Echo’s trial will be this afternoon.”

What?

“So soon?” I cough, “What about…due process?”

Then I remember that my mom had been in the Skybox for four days, not because of any legalities or rights but because there had been fifteen people ahead of her in line to be floated.

Not an issue we would have down here.

“I don’t think the Grounders have a complicated trial procedure,” Clarke points out,

“The evidence is against her and she kidnapped the new Commander’s brother.”

“Still...” I manage, swallowing around my dry mouth, “Today is…”

I trail off as I guess why I’m only learning about Echo’s trial now.

Because it hadn’t been scheduled until yesterday, when I’d told Octavia that there was going to be a party.

Thanks to me, at least a quarter of the bunker would be too tired or hungover to care about the life of one woman, and Roan was still in the infirmary, recovering from his injuries even if he’d wanted to attend and stand by the woman he’d banished.

I’d unknowingly condemned Echo to a speedy trial and execution.

The roiling in my stomach has little to do with my hangover but I force the food down, because whatever was happening later, I would need all the energy I could get to face it.

“What about Jaha?” I croak and when she doesn’t meet my eyes, the feeling in my stomach gets worse,

“He won’t be tried today,” she manages, “Kane’s asked for a delay until tensions between our people and the grounders have cooled.”

Bullshit.

This isn’t politics or diplomacy.

Jaha was being hidden away until everyone forgot his crimes and was ready to welcome him back with open arms.

They wanted him to spare him the consequences of his actions.

Clarke endured a year in solitary confinement and saw her father floated because Jaha didn’t want to deal with the fallout of the Ark dying.

Three hundred and twenty people culled because of that.

He led twelve of our people into the desert, took our guns when we needed them most, led them to their deaths and brought back ALIE. 

How many lives had been lost because of that A.I?

Clarke would never have been able to manage getting our people into the bunker if he hadn’t helped her and he’d been shouting for them to go to war against the grounders, to go to war against my sister for the right to live in the bunker alone.

How many of our own people would have died in that battle?

Jaha was the most narcissistic son of a bitch I’d ever met, he didn’t care about anything but his own image of himself, which he cultivated through careful manipulation of those around him. Even his attempts at redemption were self-serving.

He’d put his own son on a rocket that should never have survived impact with the Earth’s atmosphere because he cared more about how he was perceived as a leader than his own blood.

But he was from Phoenix station.

And Echo wasn’t.

She was going to be the sacrificial lamb, the distraction to protect the privileged.

It was the damn Ark all over again.

And Clarke knows this too.

I can see the uneasy guilt in her eyes.

“I’m going to see Kane,” I mutter, and she nods,

“He’s scheduled for breakfast in ten minutes,” she tells me, “Show the guards at the door your plate and they’ll let us through.”

“Us?” I blurt out, surprise making me stupid and hardening the resolve in her eyes,

“What they’re doing is wrong, Jaha…we can’t have different laws for different people.”

That’s why she’d come to get me, because she knew I’d want to fight this and was giving me the opportunity to try and change things.

I grin, “Come on, Princess.”

* * *

 

Kane is seated at a table with Sankru, most of them looking a little worse for wear while he has the self-satisfaction of someone who didn’t drink their weights worth in booze a mere eight hours ago.

He sees us approaching, frowning a little when we come in from the kitchen and clears his plate, standing up with a friendly smile and saying goodbye to the barely responsive grounders around him.

“Keep your voices down,” he murmurs under his breath as he walks past us, handing his plate to the staff and thanking them politely, “Follow me.”

He leads us into a corner and deliberately positions us so that we’re facing the wall, which he leans a shoulder against while crossing his arms.

And something about his stance has me wondering if this was what he looked like on the Ark, back when he was our clean-shaven executioner.

I don’t recognize that man and I don’t want to.

“Echo’s trial?” he asks and it takes me a second but I nod,

“It’s a show trial,” I say, not even bothering to frame it as a question,

“She’s going to be found guilty and sentenced when three different tribes are too tired to care and Roan is out of action.”

“Yes,” Kane answers simply, “She will.”

“And Jaha?” I demand, fighting to keep my voice steady even as I’m getting angry, “When will he be tried?”

“He won’t be,” he readily admits, “Or if he is, it won’t be for months, during which time he’ll be kept in confinement.”

“Confinement?” Clarke echoes, “Solitary?”

And damn if there isn’t savage eagerness soaking her words. I can practically see her salivating at the thought of justice.

The same man who’d condemned her to a year in solitary confinement earning the same punishment.

Kane sees what I do and his lips thin, disapproval warring with empathy,

“Not solitary,” he says, “But access restricted only to Octavia, the medical staff and myself.”

“You know what this looks like, right?” I ask, “Like we have one set of rules for Skai-kru and another for the grounders. Echo kidnapped me, but Jaha…”

“Jaha’s not the one we’re protecting,” Kane says, interrupting me, “At least, not exclusively.”

 _Clarke_.

“I was pardoned,” Clarke protests, paling, “Octavia pardoned me.”

“Because of the same favouritism that you’re accusing me of showing Jaha.” Kane clarifies,

“Because I’m Wanheda and Roan pointed out that trying the Commander of Death could make her vulnerable to trial herself,” Clarke argues, “And that she could use me to strengthen her rule.”

“Clarke,” he begins, “You committed the same crime as Jaha, and if anyone remembers that, or if he spoke against you at a trial, if he claimed that he was acting on your orders…”

“Come on,” I scoff, “Why would he say something so stupid? No-one would believe him.”

I glance at Clarke, to see if she’s as bemused by the ridiculous accusation, but she’s expressionless.

“He’s already accused me,” she guesses, “Hasn’t he?”

Kane nods and the rage in me turns cold.

Terror and guilt had lowered my hand enough so that the bullet that should have gone through Jaha’s chest when through his gut instead.

I never thought I would regret not killing a man.

But how much suffering would have been spared if I had?

“And he still has supporters amongst our people,” he continues as I clench my hands into fists, “And our way of ruling is confusing enough that they might convince other tribes to believe his lies, at least enough to move against Clarke.”

They’d be facing my gun if they even tried.

My thumb nails are short but if I clench my fists tight enough, I can feel them dig into my skin.

“And that’s why we won’t try him, or release him until he agrees to quiet reconciliation.” Kane finishes, “Now, Bellamy, Indra has a list of names for your idea, and she’ll have suggestions for training.”

“I taught a lot of the hundred to be soldiers, we held our own against the grounders as much as we could.” I point out, “I know how to train people.”

“Our people were criminals,” Clarke reminds me, “You were teaching them to fight dirty to survive, not to keep peace and uphold rules.”

No, but I did teach them to be vigilant.

Which is why I’ve noticed some of Sankru are watching Clarke, and not with the usual fear or resentment in their eyes.

But as if they’re appraising her, as if there is some relationship there I haven’t heard about.  

As if there’s a secret I don’t know. 

And Clarke’s holding her body too straight, she’s not looking behind her even though she must be able to feel those stares burning into her back.

Kane pushes off from the wall and leaves us as people begin getting up and taking their plates to the kitchen staff. Clarke glances down at her boots, clearing her throat, not meeting my eyes.

I must be crazy from the hangover because I want to take her hand. I want to wrap my arms around her shoulders and cradle her head against my shoulder. I want to comfort her and promise her that everything is going to be alright.

But I can’t say that until I know what’s going on.

First thing though, I have to speak to Echo.

* * *

 


	11. Bellamy Blake

_Bellamy Blake_

 

Echo isn’t being held in the turbine room.

Which has me wondering how many rooms have been retrofitted into cells.

What kind of people are we that this was a priority?

I have to find her.

I can’t ask Kane, he’ll be with Octavia, preparing for the trial and even if I could get him alone, he’d want me to steer clear of Echo and anything that could be used to incriminate Clarke through association.

I have to be smart about this.

I return to the Skai-kru quarters, moving slowly, trying to look casual as I scan the faces of the people moving about.

I find Miller in the new bar room, helping Monty and Harper clean up, doing most of the work himself because Monty looks as though he’s propping himself up with the broom in his hands. 

  
I clap him on the shoulder, “Hey,” I murmur, “Everyone setting up okay?”

  
Miller gives me a long, steady look, possibly remembering the things I said when I tried to break through the guards to get to the door. He’d shocked me and chained me in the turbine room.

I’d never prepared myself to be betrayed by him.

  
“Yeah,” he answers, eventually, “Our people are fine, except Murphy keeps crashing in the bed of his grounder girlfriend, I think that’s pissing off the girls.”

“I’ll speak to him,” I say, mostly to remind myself, “Anything else?”

Miller shrugs, “Depends on what you’re here for.”

I swallow, “I’m looking for Echo, the grounder who…”

“I know who she is,” he interrupts, “She’s on trial later today.”

“I want to see her.”

“Why?”

  
Since when did I need to explain my actions to him?

Before Pike, I’d never had to repeat or explain myself, I’d spoken and he’d listened.

As had the rest of the hundred, save Clarke and Octavia.

I’d lost a lot of ground that I didn’t know how to recover.

Not that I wanted to order people about, but I had relied on the loyalty of my people, the trust that they’d had in me to keep them safe.

  
“Does your dad know where they’re keeping her?” I ask and Miller clenches his jaw,

“My dad’s not here, Bellamy,” he says through gritted teeth, “He didn’t make the list.”

  
So, that’s why he’s angry.

  
“Shit,” I sigh, “I’m sorry.”

  
I am too, Miller had loved his dad and he’d seemed like a good man.

I hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t here.

I haven’t had the time.

Although, even as I think that, I remember that I’d been at a party just a few hours before, and sitting on a bunk bed with Clarke, trying to explain Greek mythology while too drunk to think straight.

  
“If he’s dead…who’s heading the guards?” I ask and he scoffs,

“I am.”

  
Good.

Even if he hated me right now, Miller was a good man, honest and unlikely to abuse his position.

  
“And I’m guessing you’re about to make some play to get me to walk you right to Echo’s cell,” He continues, “Remember when you cared about _our_ people, the hundred?”

“I still do,” I swear, “I just…I need time to catch up.”

He snorts but nods, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, “Right, come on, then.”

“Really?!”

He shrugs, “You wanna be an idiot, who am I to stop you?”

I follow him to the door before I hear my name,

  
“Hey, Bellamy?” Harper calls from the bar,

“Yeah?”

“Have you…have you spoken to your sister or Clarke today?”

“About?” I ask but she shakes her head,

“You should hear it from Octavia.”

  
So, Harper knew more about what was going on than I did.

What had Clarke down now?

* * *

 

Apparently, the leader of the Second Dawn had been supportive of the idea of multiple wives for himself and his men but opposed to the idea of women being around their husbands while menstruating or pregnant. This meant there were tiny rooms at the very end of the bunker labelled Confinement rooms on the doors.

They weren’t much bigger than the garbage chute I’d climbed up in Mt Weather.

Memories of my mom invade my mind and the thought of her trying to give birth to O in one of these rooms has me shuddering in horror.

You could barely fit two people lying down in here.

Miller walks me to the dimly lit hall and jerks his head to the warriors standing guard outside one of the doors,

  
“You can guess which one,” he deadpans,

“She mysteriously breaks out and I’ll tell everyone it was you, from Octavia down to whomever the hell is bottom of the totem pole now.”

  
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t break Echo out.

But I could explain to her why she had to die.

I could give her that at least.  

They glare at me as I step inside and immediately start blinking as I try to adjust to the complete darkness.

  
“Turn on the light,” I bark as the door slides closed behind me, “Now!”

“There is no light,” a voice whispers, “They smashed it…step carefully Bellamy.”

  
I turn my head, figuring that she’s to the right of me and take a step.

I hear the broken glass crushed under my boot and wince, even as I’m protected. I raise my hand in front of me until I figure I’m at least the level her neck should be and reach out until I encounter something cold metal.

At first, I think it’s the wall but its curved and a different texture.

Chains.

They’ve chained her.

Hand and foot to the wall.

  
“They’re afraid I’ll escape,” she remarks, “Get out and rain down hell.”

  
No, they aren’t.

We had to go down three levels to get here and through doors only accessible with key cards. Even if Echo broke out, she wouldn’t have made it far. Besides, what could she do in this bunker? There was no self-destruct security fall back and no acid fog to release, especially when she didn’t know the access codes to the computer systems.

They’d done this to hurt and humiliate her.

At least Clarke had been chained because she _was_ a risk.

She had the same basic understanding of the bunker technology as anyone in Skai-kru had and her allegiances and alliances with the grounders changed on a day-to-day basis, hour-to-hour if she was in Polis. I couldn’t even keep track of who she was befriending and who she was making plans with unless she was looping me in.

I feel my way down the chains until I reach her hand and squeeze it, trying to comfort her before pulling it away quickly.

  
“Are they feeding you?” I ask, afraid of the answer, “Giving you water?”

She snorts, “I’m told I’m on half-rations, but yes.”

I swallow and exhale softly through my mouth, steeling myself, “It’s around midday,” I begin, “And in a few hours, you’re going to have a trial…it’s kind of like a meeting where you’re judged for your crimes…”

The chains rattle as she shifts position, “I will be condemned.”

  
That not a question but I nod anyway, wondering if she can see me.

  
“You’ll be sentenced to execution.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before she sniffs derisively, trying to cover her reaction, “So, I’ll be dragged from the darkness to be sent to another darkness.”

  
Her voice is full of disdain.

  
“How…” her voice cracks and she takes a moment, “How will I be executed?” she asks,

“Fire, water, earth, sword or…Skai-kru?”

  
I assume by Skai-kru she meant by a gun.

Would there be a firing squad? Or would there be just one sharp shooter?

Did Kane know better than to ask me to be the executioner? Or would he be reprising his old role?

  
“I don’t know.” I answer and she huffs,

“It won’t be air, Roan…he would not let them use a rope to kill me.”

  
Was it dishonourable to be killed by rope?

How was there such a thing as a dishonourable execution? Did it really matter?

Either way, you would die. 

  
“I’ll speak to O,” I promise, wracking my brain to try and figure out what to say to make it easier for her.

  
People think I’m good at giving speeches, good at talking people into or out of ideas, but half the time- or more- I’m just talking out my ass and scrambling to cover it up.

  
“Whatever it is, I’ll ask her to make it quick.”

Echo snorts, “Quick,” she mumbles, “Why? After all my betrayals, you should want me to suffer.”

  
I didn’t want anyone to suffer, not at the point of death anyway, better to just have it done and move on.

Besides, the thought of suffering reminded me of the second level of the dropship, Lincoln’s endless stare as I tortured him.

It reminded me that for the briefest of moments, I had had a brother, a man willing to forgive me for my sins because I loved Octavia and who had planned to live beside me as family.

And I had helped bring to power the man who had blown his brains out in a muddy field.

  
“What’s done is done,” I tell her, “All we can do is go forward.”

  
If I ever looked back for more than a few seconds, I’d be gone.

Because I probably deserved to be chained to this wall awaiting a mock execution more than she did.

  
“I forgive you,” I lie, reaching for her hand again, “Everything you did, you did for your people.”

  
Her skin is cold and clammy against mine but slowly, her fingers start to curl around mine and a ragged sigh shows me that she’s heard and understood me.

  
“I have done a lot of bad things in my life,” she mutters, clearly embarrassed,

“But the only action I regret are the ones that caused you pain, I’m sorry for those.”

She clears her throat, “I don’t want you at my trial,” she announces, “Or at my death, but…if any of my possessions remain, they are yours.”

  
They’d probably long since been redistributed but I accept this and release her hand, her fingers locking around mine before reluctantly loosing, and I follow the inside of her arm down until I can cradle her jaw,

  
“If the world was different,” I whisper, “Perhaps…”

  
She exhales through her nose, her breath warm on my wrist,

  
“The world could be upside down and inside out and you would still be in love with Clarke.” She argues and I don’t bother to deny it.

  
I find her lips with my thumb and trace the outline, I have to kiss her gently, because her top lip is cut and there’s swelling across her lower cheek. Her breath is sour and she tastes of blood but I kiss her again and then rest my forehead against hers.

  
“You should go,” she sighs, “If you’re in here too long, they might not let you out.”

I huff a laugh and slowly step back, “Good-bye, Echo kom Azgeda.”

I step over the glass on the way to the door, finding it with my hands.

  
“You know,” she called as I lifted my fist,

“That day in the mountain…when you came back for me, that was the first time anyone had ever made me a promise and kept it,”

 “That’s why I fell in love with you.” she finishes and I can sense the smile on her face.

  
I bang on the door and after a moment, it slides open and I’m blinded by the dim light of the corridor.

* * *

 

I manage to maintain appearances enough to head to mess hall for lunch, one of the first there and I pick a table, sitting at the very edge and obviously managing to look pissed enough that nobody approaches me. The seat next to me remains empty until Clarke comes in with Emori, her hand tucked into the grounder’s bandaged one and holding it firm until she breaks away to sit with Murphy. She hesitates, slowing to a stop as she reaches the table as if she’s worried I’m going to lash out and tell her to go float herself.

But as angry as I’ve ever been at her, it was never to the point where I’d send her away.

  
“Your food’ll get cold.” I point out and her lips tighten but she sits down beside me.

  
I’m not in the mood to talk and Clarke either picks up on it or is distracted with her own issues.

I’m not hungry and not even tasting whatever I’m putting in my mouth, just eating on autopilot like I did in the days after my mom was floated and Octavia incarcerated.

I nearly walk into a wall carrying my tray back to the kitchen because I forget that I’m not in the Factory station mess hall and have to correct at the last second, studying the layout of the room before I can function.

What time was it?

When did Echo’s trial start?

I knew Clarke would have that information, the hour, the location, hell maybe even the list of people allowed in to watch the damn thing.

I blink, find myself in the hallway and being watched by some guards, Adam and Luke.

They’re observing me and I figure I must be looking strange, standing in the middle of the hall not moving. I lean against a wall, out of the way and wait for Clarke to join me.

When I don’t move, she mirrors my position but keeps a few inches between us.

  
“Am I under suspicion?” I ask, under my breath, “Kane worried I’m gonna interfere?”

  
She glances at them out of the corner of her eye,

  
“Might not be you they’re watching,” she mutters, “Or just you, anyway.”

“What have you done now?” I ask and she blinks rapidly, her brow furrowing as if hurt by the exhaustion in my voice.

“Her trial will start in…” she pauses and looks to the clock at the end of the hall,

“Fifteen minutes, give or take, it’ll be in the same room that Roan and I were pardoned in…” she taps her fingers against the wall,

“I don’t know if they’ve finished taking down the cameras, you might be able to watch from the security room…”

“No,” I shake my head, “I have to meet with Indra, discuss the plan to train grounders as guards.”

  
I push off and have to remind myself where I’m headed before walking towards the Trikru quarters.

When I get to there, it’s to be told that Indra is ‘in a meeting’ with Octavia, because of course she would be there.

I nearly throw up my lunch and feel the full brunt of my hangover.

But one of her seconds has been told to expect me and stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, glaring at me as I approach.

I begin explaining what the plan is and he interrupts me frequently to ask questions.

How long will the training take? What will the guards need to be able to do? Will they be given guns? Can these shock batons be used to kill? Why were our guards mostly men? Who would they answer to? Who else would be in charge of training?

While I spoke, I saw two burly grounders storming into Echo’s cell, their rough hands undoing the chains that bound her and heard her grunt as her limbs dropped, blood returning to them for the first time in days. I saw her being frogmarched through the halls, blinded by the harsh lighting and dragged to the Council Chamber.  
I heard the dark mutterings of the crowd gathered to witness her sham trial and the way which she lifted her chin proudly, pretending not to see the hatred burning in their eyes.  
  
My sister is standing on the dais, reckoning Echo’s many crimes, before and after Praimfaya, asking if she denies them, asking if anyone denies them.  
  
‘No, Heda, I do not.’  
  
These are the only five words Echo speaks throughout the trial, she remains silent while keeping her eyes on whomever speaks, not showing a trace of fear, even when Octavia turns to Indra to deliberate the sentence.

Echo is being tried, and found guilty.

And I’m here talking to some stranger about a training regimen.

  
“So,” I prompt the man, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat.

“Do you have a list of names?”

* * *

 

I break my final promise to Echo almost by accident.

I had gone looking for Kane, to report back to him when I see the crowds heading towards the entry chamber and follow, figuring that something was going down.

I didn’t even think that they were gathering to watch her execution.

I had assumed that they would carry out her sentence at the end of her trial, in the same room.

I guess they wanted to make it public.

I move around the press of people, lifting my head to find the eye of the storm and see that it’s just off the centre of the room, a space forming around three women.

And I know all of them.

Indra has her hand clenched around Echo’s arm, forcing her into place. Octavia stands in front of them, facing the crowd with her hands clasped behind her back.

A soldier’s stance.

My view is being blocked by the crowd, so I edge backwards and head up the ramp, making it halfway and seeing two younger Skai-kru that I can move aside to lean against the railing.

Octavia is announcing that Echo is suffering the punishment of those who break the law. That Ogeda will treat everyone with the same justice because they were all one people now.

I scan the crowd to make sure that I don’t see Clarke’s blonde head anywhere.

Echo shakes off Indra’s hand and reaches up for her hair, sweeping it over her shoulder and turning her face towards it as she began carding it with her fingers. I see that she’s plaiting it, twisting the locks deftly until she has a simple style that she ties off with a bit of string.

Her task complete, she pats down the blood and sweat stained clothes she’s been wearing since the Conclave and removes a small object, offering it on open palm to Indra who takes it with a disdainful glare.

I hadn’t had time to think about how Echo would go to her death, but she is handling it with a self-assurance I could only hope to fake one day. Her task done, her eyes begin scanning the crowd curiously, pausing on a face before continuing on, and I think that she’s looking for me. Seeing if I kept my word.

For a second, I wish I had.

Octavia finishes by drawing her sword and Indra puts a hand on Echo’s shoulder, forcing her to her knees.

She flinches slightly at the pain and her eyes begin moving faster now, up the ramp and I know the exact moment she sees me.

She had been searching for me.

Her lips curve upward ever so slightly before she has to bend her head forward, her plait swinging as she bares the back of her neck to the blade. Her eyes dart to the floor quickly but find mine again as Octavia lifts her blade in a smooth arch.

I can’t remember the grounder saying for death but I pretend to sound the words and see her repeating them as the sword lands on her neck.

Life is cruel.

I’ve known this for a while now, but when Echo releases a pained moan, blood gushing from the wound, the remainder has my stomach churning violently.

Octavia’s eyes go wide and she lifts the sword again, bringing it down quickly a second time and then a third, until the head is finally severed from the body and rolls over twice, landing face up and the lips still moving as the blood spurts out from the neck.

Those at the front of the crowd step back, to avoid the mess and Octavia grimaces as she tries to wipe it from her face and hair.

I’m about fifty seconds from losing my lunch, so I begin trying to make my way as quickly and smoothly as possible to the nearest bathroom.

I think I see Octavia spotting me through the people, but I’m too focused on trying to get away to be sure.

* * *

 

I barely get to a bathroom before I’m tasting vomit and have to take the nearest sink, emptying my stomach before I can even begin to raise my head and look around to see if I’m alone.

I meet my gaze in the mirror, imagine the sword above my own exposed neck and I’m retching again.

I drop to my knees, slump over and press my forehead against the cool metal plating of the wall. I close my eyes, listening to the sound of my own breathing until I judge that I can make it back to my own room and brush my teeth.

Pulling myself up, I stagger out into the hall and find that it’s mostly empty.

Except for the grounder standing not even a foot from me.

  
“Tell O, I’ll speak to her later.” I tell Indra, wiping my mouth as I begin walking,

“Your sister is not why I am here.” She snaps, reaching for me and I dodge her, turning around and walking backwards, “What then? Gonna arrest me? Put me through a sham trial as well?”

  
She is glaring at me in warning but I’m in no mood so I turn my back on her,

  
“Bellamy,” she calls, stepping into my path and holding out her hand.

  
Glancing down, I see a switchblade with the Azgeda symbol on the black handle.

  
“Echo asked me to give this to you,” she explains, “Somehow, she had managed to keep it concealed.”

In spite of everything, I manage to smirk, “Of course she did,” I mutter, taking it and pocketing it, “Thank-you.”

Indra hums and nods, disapproving of me as always.

This time, when she reaches for me, I let her grab my arm, “For Octavia’s sake,” she tells me, “We need to find a way to handle Clarke.”

Dammit.

“Tomorrow,” I say, “Whatever the hell is going on with her, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

Today, I just needed time to make peace with the chaos that is my life.

* * *

  


	12. Octavia kom Ogeda

_Octavia kom Ogeda_

  
Trying to sever the spinal cord to separate the head from the rest of the body was tiring and jarring on your arms.

I know this now.

I wish I didn’t.

I could handle knowing where to plunge my sword into a human stomach to hit the internal organs and avoid any bone, I could handle knowing that you shouldn’t slit the throat but stab the carotid arteries instead, I could even handle knowing the sounds a person makes as they die.

But the sound of sword trying to saw through the flesh and bone of a neck?

 _That_ I could have lived without.

 

“We should have just shot her,” I comment, not looking up as the door opens.

  
I had walked into the office, which I was still getting used to being mine and taken the first empty chair, resting my arms on my knees.

  
“Or hanged her,” I mused, finally looking up to see Indra and Kane standing side by side,

“We could not have used air to kill her,” Indra says, allowing Kane to usher her into the room so he could close the door behind them,

“Roan would have led his soldiers against us before allowing that to happen.”

“ _Really?_ ” I ask, “Spilling her blood across half the entry way is okay but hanging is too far?!”

  
Sometimes, I understood why it was my brother was frustrated by the grounder customs and laws, these were my people but every night I had to learn about the thousand different ways I had accidentally broken taboos and traditions during the day.

Kane is leaning back against the desk, looking completely unruffled, while I sit there with Echo’s blood and other fluids on my boots.

I hate him a little in that instant. 

  
“I should have asked you to do it,” I snap at him, lifting my chin defiantly,

“If anyone should be killing people down here, it should be the executioner.”

  
Kane turns his face to me and his eyes widen slightly but that’s the only response I get out of him.

I suppose it’s not even close to the first time he’s had that thrown in his face.

But right now, I need anger, I need a reaction.

  
“Do you know he floated my mother?” I ask Indra, who turns her upper body to him with a sharp glance, “Guess not,” I smirk,

“He sucked the air right out of her lungs for the crime of giving birth to me.” I finish and now, he is crossing his arms over his chest, looking at me with sad disappointment.

  
And somehow, that makes everything feel worse. 

  
“Are you done?” he asks quietly, as if I’m a kid throwing a tantrum and I know that if I snap again I’ll be proving him right.

  
I’m not acting like a heda right now, so I put my hands on my knees, pushing myself up and walking around behind my desk,  
  
  
“Has the body been taken care of?”

Indra nods, “It will be delivered to the infirmary, cleaned and then prepared.”

“For what?” I ask, “Can we…is there any way to burn our dead down here?”

  
I imagine building the pyre in the middle of the entry chamber and even my basic understanding of oxygen scrubbers had me wondering how they would handle the sudden influx of smoke.

  
“Azgeda do not burn their dead,” Kane informs me, “The royal family are interred in ice, warriors are buried among their territory markers, so that their spirits continue to defend the nation, traitors are cut up and fed to the ocean creatures they hunt.”

  
How the hell did he know this?

  
“Right,” I clear my throat, “We don’t have ice down here, no territory markers and no ocean creatures, what are our options?”

Indra tilts her head slightly, clearly this is the first time she’s had to consider the question and Kane clears his throat,

  
“I’ll have to speak to Abby and Raven, but the Second Dawn must have had some method of body disposal down here.”

  
If they didn’t, we were possibly screwed.

How long before rotting corpses caused pestilence and disease?

I didn’t even want to think about it.

  
“What else?” I demand, pressing my fingers into the desk, “How’s Clarke and Roan’s coup coming along?”

“It’s not a coup,” Kane argues, instinctively trying to protect Abby’s daughter,

“Not yet, anyway.”

“They have not spoken to anyone today,” Indra reports, “Roan is recovering in the infirmary…”

“Good,” I interrupt, “Tell him not to rush things, Delfikru and Sankru will need him and Clarke and she’s not going to move without him, we can wait.”

  
I probably shouldn’t be referring to them by their tribes when we’re all supposed to be Wonkru now, but until everyone stops living by their clans and markings, it is easier.

Besides, who cares how I refer to them when only Kane and Indra are around?

  
“What about Skai-kru?” Indra asks, glancing between Kane and I, “Is there any among you who would stand with Clarke if she challenged you?”

  
Challenge me.

An image flashes through my mind of Clarke and I facing off in the entry hall, swords in hand.

Did Clarke even know how to wield a sword? I’d never even seen her hold one.

Then again, she killed well enough without lifting the weapon herself.

But that’s not what Indra had meant.

Who would support Clarke?

Her mom. Jackson too, I guess. Probably the Alpha station, those assholes always stuck together.

But how many people from Alpha station had made it to the bunker? They had died quickly and easily, especially after so many of them had followed Jaha into the dead zone rather than face the idea of equality at the camp.

I don’t know any of the adults, we kept out of each other’s way.

The guards had guns but they tended to follow whomever their captain.

Which was Miller, who had been loyal to my brother since Murphy’s banishment from camp had left a spot beside Bellamy to be filled.

And Bellamy?

Bellamy loved me, in spite of everything, he _loved_ me.

I had beaten him bloody in that cave and he had let me, telling anyone who tried to stop me to back off. He hadn’t lifted a hand to defend himself, or even spoken when I’d knocked him to the ground and declared that he was dead to me.

He had never once yelled at me or demanded an apology for my actions while I’d been mourning Lincoln, when I’d killed Pike, he’d let it go, understanding that it was justice for me and for the grounders.

Unconditional love.

He was the first person to have given me that. My own mother had loved me only until reality set in and the consequences for her actions meant years of having to share her rations, live in fear and prostitute herself to the guards of factory station.

In the end, she had hated me for the burden I’d placed on her life.

But Bellamy had never stopped loving me, even when he was angry with me and he had had his chance to be rid of me, all he’d had to do was just let Clarke and Jaha keep the bunker closed but he had fought to save me.

He would support me over everyone.

He had to.

Because I wasn’t going to think of the alternative.

I was definitely not going to think about my brother in the crowd, locking eyes with Echo and praying for her as I swung the blade. I was definitely not going to think about how he’d not even been able to look at me afterwards.

So, who else would support Clarke?

A few of the remaining hundred maybe, but they would be split between her and Bellamy and would want a resolution that involved talking instead of bloodshed. And they sure as hell wouldn’t want her deciding who lived and who died, not when they’d discovered just how little she let her emotions and connections affect the outcome.

My eyes flicker to Kane but he meets my gaze with patience and complete honesty and there’s no doubt in my mind that he would stand with me.

And it means a lot to be able to know that.

  
“Skai-kru won’t be a problem,” I tell Indra, a hint of pride that I can say that, that I have the power to determine this.

“Go see Abby,” I instruct Kane, “Right away,” I add, but keep my voice clear so he knows I’m not dismissing him so much as giving him an excuse to go see the woman he loves.

  
His girlfriend, I guess.

He manages a small smile, a nod and walks straight out the door, leaving it slightly ajar as if he expected Indra to follow him.

She doesn’t, instead, she kicks it closed with her foot and stands before my desk, hand the hilt of her sword.

  
“Skai-kru are a strange people,” she begins, “Marcus killed your mother and yet, I have seen how you and Bellamy love him, but he is not your father.”

“Not by blood.” I answer, giving a half-shrug, 

“Your people hate your enemies so fiercely and then turn around and love them, to the point where you would die for them, choose them over your own people,” She continues,

“I am glad for this, but curious.”

  
I glance up and see the hint of a smile on her lips, twitching my own in response,

  
“All that time up in space must have fried our brains.” I joke, and she gives a short chuckle before all humour is wiped from her face.

“The reason I speak of this,” she says, “Is because I have a solution, a way to make an alliance with Azgeda.”

  
She pauses and I wait, wondering if we could possibly continue this conversation over lunch, which I had missed because of the trial and execution but I was growing hungry.

  
“Marriage.” Indra announces and I wait for her to elaborate.

“Marriage?” I echo, “Between who?”

She sighs and grips the hilt of her sword, “I have thought this over and do not speak lightly,” she swears while I straighten up, waiting for her to explain.

“But so far, no alliance between Azgeda and Skai-kru has stood, nor can we trust Azgeda to be a part of Ogeda, Lexa could barely hold them within the coalition and she had the power of the Flame behind her. Azgeda is the only clan down here made up exclusively of warriors, we could survive a war against them but we would take damage, we would lose lives…”

“Indra,” I interrupt, “Tel ai” (Tell me)

She exhales a ragged breath, “There should be a marriage between Roan of Azgeda and…you.”

My first thought is to laugh, “Oh,” I murmur, raising my eyebrows, “You’re serious.”

“I would not joke about this.” 

I blink rapidly and lean back on my heels, “Why?”

  
She inhales and I can see that she has a whole argument planned,

  
“We call them hodnes hukop,” (love alliance) she begins, “And if he marries you than he cannot marry Wanheda.”

“Clarke wouldn’t marry Roan,” I interject, “She…”

  
I almost want to say that she loves my brother, that she wouldn’t marry someone else but then I think about everything Clarke has done for the sake of our people, everything she had done because she believed that she was right.

She might be wrong, but if she thought marrying Roan would be best for our people, she’d walk right over my brother’s heart to do it.

  
“It does not matter whether she would or not,” Indra declares, “As long as they both remain unattached, there is the chance, nou na chants teik. (we can’t afford to take)”

“Kei,” (okay) I sound the word out, “Why me?”

“Roan is a king, he should be married to a heda or a hainofi (princess), he will accept no less and whoever marries him becomes haiplana (queen)…”

“And if it’s Skai-kru but not me, they could be a threat to me later.” I finish.

  
But I’m still running through the women of the Ark in my head, trying to think of a viable candidate for this match. The closest thing we had to a princess was Clarke and she was out of the running for so many reasons before I even touched on her relationship with my brother.

Abby was attached to Kane, widowed and pushing forty-five. Harper was with Monty and hadn’t been in a great headspace for a while now. Raven had only recently stopped detesting grounders, but sure as hell wouldn’t agree to marry one for political purposes. I knew Kath Colonna wasn’t dating anyone, but she still had nightmares from her time in Mt Weather. Besides, I don’t think she’d ever had a conversation with a grounder and Roan would probably want someone who could speak trigedasleng, while Skai-kru would want someone who could understand grounder politics and diplomacy.

But I don’t think Kane was an option.  
  


“If you marry Roan, you will break his alliance with Wanheda,” Indra argues,

“His loyalty will have to lie with you, because any threat to you would be a threat to him. Your people will become his and there can no longer be any argument about the Conclave. You will be Azgeda’s queen, with Azgeda’s warriors serving you and if Roan were to die…” she trails off and shrugs, “You would become Azplana.” (ice queen)

“If he were to die?” I repeat, “Not even married yet and you’re planning to make me a widow?”

Indra shrugged, “The marriage only has to last until Praimfaya is done, but if he outlives his usefulness before then…”

  
He would die.

That was still five years away.

  
I clear my throat, “Should I…how do we do this?”

Indra steps back, “For a marriage outside of your own clan, representatives are sent, appoint me to carry out the talks.”

“You?” I ask, “Not Kane?”

She shakes her head, “I know Marcus, he will not accept this until both sides have agreed.”

“Probably should wait to tell Bell, as well,” I suggest, “Till everything is decided and…both men are unarmed.”

  
Indra gives a delicate snort and turns on her heel, marching from the room and leaving me to my thoughts.

Marriage.

I never even considered before, I’d been so proud of the idea that what Lincoln and I had was stronger and more stable than any marriage.

Then, death had spat in my face and reminded me of one thing stronger.

And Praimfaya had mocked Illian’s burgeoning feelings for me, what point had there been in returning his love or planning a future when we were all going to burn anyway?

And ironically, neither of us had been killed by the death wave.

It had roared over his corpse and my head and now, life had to go on.

* * *

 

“No!”

I enter the infirmary just in time to see Abby smacking something out of Roan’s hand, and my own instinctively goes to the hilt of my sword to protect her. But, surprisingly, the haihefa (king) doesn’t respond to this insult with violence, instead, letting Abby snatch away the object.

“I don’t care how many times you Azgeda brand your skin,” she continues,

“You are _not_ cauterizing your wounds.”

Roan is looking up at her from his position on the bed, his eyebrows raised as he considers her, but I see his hand at his side, spread out in a halting motion for the Azgedan warrior watching the scene with barely covered shock.

  
“I don’t have time for these stitches to heal me,” he reasons, “Either I cauterize or bleed out.”

I snort and lean against the door, catching their attention, “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t exactly lighting fires down here,” I point out, making my way into the room,

“How’re you going to heat the knife?”

He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, “My guard has already bribed one of the kitchen staff.”

  
That was quick.

I want to ask what he managed to bribe them with but I see the curiosity in his eyes and the expectation and I force myself not to be embarrassed.

Training for battle never prepared me for this.

  
I turn to the doctor and nearly collide with Jackson who appeared out of thin air to confiscate the knife, “Can we have a moment?”

Abby glances between the two of us, “Whatever it is, does it require him to leave the bed?”

  
The Azgedan standing beside the king manages to disguise his snicker as a cough but only barely, and when he sees us glaring at him, he steps up to Abby and begins asking her random medical questions.

I try to think of a reason to get rid of Jackson, but when I look back, I see he’s vanished.

Which…how?  

  
“I have been watching him for hours,” Roan announces as I settle on the bed, still trying to locate the nurse.

“Abby’s servant moves like a…keryon (spirit) that walks the Earth.”

“A ghost,” I offer, “I’m sure he’s not dead, unless Abby’s not as good a doctor as we thought.”

He grunts and leans back on his hands, causing a bandage on his stomach to shift and I see a trickle of blood sliding down his skin,

  
“Did one of your wounds re-open?” I ask, concerned but he only shakes his head,

“Indra came by earlier,” he begins, “To as ai (ask me) to consider the hukop,” he glances down, at the blood, “She did so with her knife.”

  
I make sure Abby’s not facing us and lift the bandage to inspect the wound, it was shallow and I tape the bandage back to the skin,

  
“You’ll live.” I declare and the corner of his mouth twitches upward,

“Will I?” he murmurs, “Is that the promise of a _heda_?”

“Do those still mean anything to you?” I counter, avoiding the question and he shrugs,

“Lexa broke her promises too easily, her word meant little, but I have not yet seen you break any of yours.”

  
I hadn’t thought about trying to live up to Lexa’s memory, she had been the first to unite the clans but I had known her as the Commander who’d sent three hundred warriors to the dropship, had betrayed us at Mt Weather and put a kill order on Lincoln when he’d refused to leave with Trikru.

Because of this, Lincoln and I hadn’t been able to leave Arkadia for Luna’s rig as we’d planned, because of this, we’d still been there when they’d found Pike.

  
“Did you agree?” I ask, “To the hukop?”

“Indra didn’t give me much of a choice,” he states, “Had I said no, Abby would have found me in pieces on the floor,”

“There will have to be talks before it takes place,” he continues, “Ones without Indra’s knife pressed to my stomach.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And if your brother comes looking to kill me, I will defend myself.”

“He won’t be trying to kill you,” I tell him, “Maim maybe, mostly he’ll threaten you but trust me to take care of myself.”

“He loves you,” he murmurs, “Yu laik em tombom.” (You are his heart.)

  
These days, I shared that vital organ with Clarke Griffin. And at first, I thought she hadn’t known that my brother loved her, that she’d thought they were just really good friends.  
Now, I knew she knew but I don’t think she realized just how deeply and faithfully Bellamy loved. When he did, it was with every bit of his heart that wasn’t already reserved for me.

  
“I’ll talk to him once the negotiations are done,” I promise and he nods, adjusting himself as he nurses his ribs again, “We’ll probably have to wait until you’re healed.”

He grimaces, “If we wait that long, Praimfaya will be half-done,” he pauses and his eyes narrow slightly as he watches me, “A month and I will be healed enough.”

  
A month.

Grounders didn’t take a month to heal, they gave themselves a fortnight at most and after that, dealt with the pain and hoped that their injuries wouldn’t re-open.

I had seen this man suffer a bullet to the chest and then stride around Polis as if it had never happened.

Roan was trying to delay.

  
“We’ll marry when the negotiations are done,” I declare, standing up and striding away, not looking back as I call out.

“In here if we have to.”


	13. Thelonious Jaha, Former Chancellor of the Ark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was previously using the Kass Morgan names for the Ark stations (Phoenix, Walden, etc) but I've switched to the tv show names (Alpha, Factory, etc) sorry for any confusion.

_Thelonious Jaha. Former Chancellor of the Ark._

My people.

Killed by the nuclear fallout.

Hundreds condemned to unnecessary death while violent, unrepentant grounders lived in this bunker.

The bunker I had discovered.

And now I was locked away inside.

Unable to lead my people.

 

Bellamy Blake.

Twice now that man had almost been the death of me.

This last time had been because of a mistake I had made.

I should never have allowed him into the bunker.

Initially, my plan had been to leave him trapped outside to die in the death wave beside his sister and Marcus and the grounder savages.

However, I am no fool, I knew that for our people to function successfully in the bunker, we would need more than one leader, I would need someone standing beside me who had not been tarnished by their actions on the Ark.

And for that, I needed Clarke Griffin.

And Clarke Griffin needed Bellamy Blake.

I had hoped that his relief at finding himself alive, spared from death, would be enough for him to step back and settle into the role of keeping her centered.

But instead, he had convinced her to betray me and allow him to open the bunker.

For that, over three hundred of my people had died.

And they had the gall to arrest _me_ for my _supposed_ crimes?

Everything I had ever done had been for the good of the Ark and its people.

That is why I had been elected again and again as Chancellor, why people had chosen me, not Marcus and not Abby.

The two of them passed around the pin as if it were a fashion accessory and not a symbol of our sacred duty to lead.

To choose _my_  people above all else.

They had forgotten that, somewhere in their ephemeral relationships with the grounders, their adoption of these savage traditions and habits.

Kane had branded his skin like an animal for god’s sake and _Octavia_?

The less said about her choices, the better.

Marcus was almost beyond redemption at this point, as long as he insisted on playing family with the Blake siblings, but there was still hope for the Griffin women.

There had to be.

  
I remembered those days on the Ark, sitting with Jake and Abby as we watched our children play, imagining their futures.

I remember Clarke sitting on my lap, asking me endless questions about the Ark, showing a natural curiosity and enthusiasm that Wells had never been able to properly imitate.

If only Jake hadn’t insisted on throwing all of that away for his mistaken ideals.

He wasn’t a fool, but he didn’t understand the responsibility of leadership.

My duties.

Unfortunately, he had dragged Clarke down with him, the poor girl had truly loved him, and therefore, couldn’t be trusted not to reveal his secret.

I wonder if Abby knew that Marcus had campaigned for her execution, claiming that a year in solitary confinement would render her incapable of reintegration into Ark society. He had pointed to studies from before the nuclear apocalypse, claiming that those in solitary confinement for longer than a few months ended up acutely psychotic or actively suicidal, and thus, execution was not only the one viable solution but also merciful.

He hadn’t understood that Clarke wasn’t an ordinary prisoner, but a resident of Alpha station, she had grown up around strong leaders and in a world where she had been taught to understand what the Ark wanted and what it needed weren’t always the same thing.

She was hardly going to succumb to madness like a common factory rat. 

A factory rat like Bellamy Blake.

The son of a seamstress, who had tricked the hundred into following him instead of Wells and then forced Clarke to accept him as a co-leader. I had hoped to chalk this up to youthful foolishness on her part, but Marcus had succumbed to his charm as well and then Pike.

Although, I believe Pike had feared Bellamy more than cared for him, after all, despite the shame of his low status on the Ark, he did have potential, a natural gift for oration and a flair.

If he had been born to Alpha station, or even Farm station, he could have made a good council member, perhaps even head of the guards one day.

He could talk people into following him and that was a dangerous trait to have unless he was convinced to stand with you.

That was probably why Marcus doted on him and his sister. Whomever had Bellamy Blake onside, had the support of the remaining hundred, their families and various connections, which made a sizable voting base amongst our people.

And whomever held both Bellamy and Clarke, had the two most powerful pieces on the chess board, and could withstand any threat to their leadership.

I don’t know how Marcus had managed to see this before me and outmaneuver me but here we were.

Formerly the two most powerful people on the Ark to one locked in a tiny cell and the other bowing and scraping to a barely civilised teen girl who played with the savage grounders.

* * *

 

Abby was first to visit me in my cell, to tend to the cuts and bruises I had sustained trying to resist arrest, her med kit clutched too tightly in her hand.

I had ordered her to find a way to free me, but she had only shaken her head.

“I don’t have time for you, Theolonius,” she had told me in a quavering voice,

“I have to try and save my daughter.”

That was how I had known that Clarke was in danger.

I must have spent half an hour agonizing over her predicament.

What had happened?

Had Octavia decided to sentence us both to the same fate? Imprisonment?

Was she such a weak ruler that she had to incarcerate any who didn’t blindly follow her rules?

Pathetic.

She’d be lucky to last a year.

Of course, there would have to be a trial, and I would have to be given the chance to speak, to explain my actions.

People always praised my speeches, I would turn the crowd against this little dictator.

And if she tried Clarke, finding her guilty for whatever crime she decided, her execution would surely garner protest against her and sympathy for me.

Poor Clarke.

I remember her singing, she’d had such a pretty voice.

* * *

 

My food is brought to me twice a day by a grounder I’m not sure even speaks English.

By this, I’m able to calculate that five days pass before there’s noise in the hall and my door opens to reveal Marcus and Bellamy.

I had been sitting on my bed, an undignified position for a leader, so I clap my thighs and stand, putting on a jovial, relaxed air that I had perfected when doing inspections on the lesser stations.

  
“Visitors,” I grin, opening my arms, “If I had known, I would have cleaned up.”

Marcus manages a flicker of a smile and drops his head, “Are you well, Theolonius?”

“Well,” I begin, my voice still light, “I am locked away in a tiny cell, with nothing to pass the time but my concern for our people.”

  
He is about to speak when Bellamy interrupts, his arms crossed and his voice thick with disrespect.

  
“This cell is the same size as the family quarters in Factory station on the Ark.” he declares and I raise my eyebrows.

  
He can’t be serious.

  
“Exaggeration is the weapon of the foolish,” I quip and he turns to Kane who gives him a quelling look.

  
The two of them are so similar that even I have to remind myself that they couldn’t possibly be father and son.

  
“Tell me what I’ve missed.” I order and they return their attention to me.

“Octavia is the heda,” Marcus begins, “The leader of those of us in the bunker,”

“Wonkru,” Bellamy interjects, “Grounders and Skai-kru as equals.”

  
I’m aware of my lip curling in disgust and force it back down.

  
“We are going to integrate our duties and roles in the bunker,” Kane continues,

“We are going to train grounders as guards so we are all in charge of keeping the peace, Abby and Clarke are going to trade knowledge with the healers…

“Clarke is alive?” I interrupt, “I thought Octavia had executed her.”

Both men stare at me in surprise, “Octavia pardoned Clarke and freed her. Who told you that?”

I pause and think back, recalling that in fact, no-one had told me that she had been executed, I had simply assumed.

  
“Octavia is going to spare her then?”

“O won’t let anything happen to Clarke,” Bellamy announces, as if he could speak for his sister.

  
Was the bond of siblings really so strong that they could surrender power to each other?

If so, the Ark had been right not to allow second children.

  
“Leaders can never deal in absolutes,” I respond, “Marcus, you must know that at some point, as a dictator to savages, Octavia will have to remove anyone who could threaten her rule.”

“Clarke would never…” Bellamy tries but I speak over him,

“Even if she did not openly challenge her, people will soon come to realize how much more suited she is to the role of leadership. No matter how skilfully your sister paints her face, nothing can compare to sixteen years of training and preparation.”

“Theolonius…” Marcus sighs, but I’m focused on Bellamy, on the surprise writ clear across his face.  

“Didn’t you know?” I ask, trying to swallow back my triumph.

“Clarke was always meant to succeed me as Chancellor.”

  
Horror follows on the heels of surprise and Bellamy looks to his surrogate father for denial that never comes.

He storms away and I sit back down on the bed.

Whenever Clarke and Bellamy had fought in camp, she sought out the familiar, which in this case would be myself.

She would come back to me.

Marcus is watching me and I wave my hand for him to sit, but instead he merely crosses his arms in the same fashion Bellamy had, and it looks uncomfortable on him.

  
“We have decided that you should remain in here until tension have cooled and you’re able to be integrated back into society,” Marcus reveals, “I’ll bring you something to read.”

Even though his eyes are telling me that I shall be kept in my cell a very long time, I do not mind.

Because if everything gets chaotic out there, they’ll need a true leader to restore order in their lives.

I am that leader.

* * *

 


	14. Clarke Griffin

_Clarke Griffin_

 

 

Waiting.

I _hated_ waiting.

I had been patient once, back when my father was alive and I didn’t have any reason not to believe the saying that good things came to those who waited.

Any patience I had after that was lost in solitary confinement. Leaving only apathy, days of endless sleep and disassociation.

And down here, on the Earth, waiting meant people dying, armies being defeated, animals escaping the hunt...

Down here, waiting meant _losing_.

Roan had told me that we had to wait, to give Delfikru and Sangedakru time to either come to their senses, or to reach out to other clans and see whether they would oppose Octavia with them.

In the current situation, the rule of the bunker being held together by little more than appreciation, fear and exhaustion, we couldn’t imprison and execute them based on one conversation, we needed a lot more to condemn them for.

We also needed to know how deep the discontent ran, how many people were willing to rise against a Skai-kru commander.

And if they got impatient, we could argue that we needed time for Roan to recover. He could hardly lead his army if he was still barely able to walk properly.

We had been in the bunker for five days now and already seen one kidnapping, one trial and execution, one coup in the making and one party.

Perhaps a little patience would be a good thing this time.

Still, I’m not good at waiting.

* * *

 

My breakfast comes with a side of glaring suspicion from Harper and Bellamy’s absence for most of the meal. Which doesn’t go unnoticed.  
  


“He okay?” Miller asks under his breath, “He was at the execution yesterday and…left pretty quickly after that.”  
  


One of Roan’s people had attended the execution and reported back to him, so I knew this and Jackson had handed me an antacid to give to Bellamy, but I hadn't seen him ye, trying to give him the space I assumed he needed. 

I had tasked Emori with that, because right now she was one of the few people I knew who didn’t want me dead. 

  
“He’s in his bed,” Murphy adds, “Not sick just…sleeping like Jasper.”

“He’s fine,” I lie, “Just exhausted…if you guys need anything today…”

  
I’m about to say they can find me but I remember that I have to figure out how to sabotage a coup with Roan and I don’t know how long that will take.

  
“Miller’s in charge.” I announce and Miller looks up from his meal, “Thanks for the vote.”

I manage a smile and a shrug, “Sorry.”

  
He was the first-person Bellamy had really trusted after Atom and the only one the Ark adults would listen to without thinking that they were humouring the children.

And out of the three of us, he was probably the only one that Octavia wasn’t suspicious of right now.

* * *

 

  
In the infirmary, Roan is holding court, surrounded by an assortment of Azgedans who are hanging on his every word. He’s speaking in Trigedasleng and I listen in, picking up on a few words and realizing that he’s discussing dorm placements, training regimens and ordering his people to respect the new commander.

Giving them privacy, I head over to greet my mom who is studying a tablet, and conversing quietly with Jackson.

  
“Morning, sweetie,” she grins, “How are you?”

  
Alive.

  
“Did you figure out a way to handle E…bodies down here?” I ask, remembering at the last minute that I shouldn’t be discussing Echo’s corpse surrounded by her people.

My mom and Jackson share a look, “We found Cadogan’s book of laws for living down here, we’re going through that and his files to figure out how he planned to deal with the bodies, but we haven’t found a disposal unit yet.”

  
Okay.

 _That_ could quickly become a problem.

I glance towards Roan and see that his people are holding out their arms, taking in turns to clasp elbows, murmuring farewells.

I had never seen his people bow to him like they’d done with his mother.

Still, they seemed devoted enough to him, even though he often quipped that it was because he was their only choice.

Some of them give me questioning looks as they leave, some of them hostile, but I’m used to it.

I perch myself on the bed next to his as he lies back, groaning slightly as the tension leaves his body, his eyes flicker but he turns his face to me, 

  
“Another day and we’re still alive,” he comments, “Aren’t we lucky?”

I tilt my head slightly, thinning my lips, “We’re something,” I answer.

“They tell me that Echo died well,” he murmurs, “That Octavia executed her herself, with a sword.”

I nod, “I wasn’t there, but I read Kane’s report…it said good things.”

  
In the context of a report about an execution. She had behaved with dignity and firm resolve.

Which in Kane speak meant she wasn’t dragged kicking and screaming to her death. 

I wondered if Roan mourned her, if he would regret not saying goodbye?

His brow is furrowed in contemplation and I’m suddenly remembering the scratchy inside of my pants pocket as I withdrew Anya’s braid, offering it to Lexa as a keepsake.

I could probably get a lock of hair from Echo if Roan wished.

  
“Who is Octavia Blake?” he asked me suddenly, surprising me, “When she’s not at war?”

  
I don’t know.

I can’t remember the last time we weren’t at war or fighting to survive.

Wait…yes I can.  

  
“The first day we landed on Earth,” I began, “She came with Jasper, Monty, Finn and I to walk to Mt Weather, back when we thought it was merely an old military base, she was…flirty, excited, she jumped into a lake…which turned out to have a giant creature in it…”

“She survived the _wodaripa_?” (water monster) he interrupted, trying to clarify and I nodded, “I mean, barely, but we got her out and an hour later she was happy again.”

  
And she had loved the luminescent butterflies that had clustered on the trees just outside our camp, every night just after sunset, she would follow them out there and let them land on her skin. She’d even tried feeding them for a while, bringing them flowers thick with pollen or sticky dew.

But I can’t share that memory with Roan. That was a part of Octavia, an innocent part of her that I wouldn’t share with outsiders. The ground had taken so much from her, from all of us that I wanted to jealously guard what little we had left.

  
“Why the sudden interest?” I asked and I see a rueful grin creep across his face,

“Haven’t you heard?” he counters, “She and I are to be married.”

  
_What?!_

  
I’ve either misheard or seriously misconstrued their relationship…but Octavia was still mourning Lincoln and surely Bellamy would have said something if his sister was sleeping with the Commander.

Or forget Bellamy, wouldn’t Indra have burnt Polis, Ton DC and Arkadia to the ground before letting her second even think about _kissing_ the king?

Yes, sometimes I get caught up in my own issues and yes, I’m a little self-involved but how could I have missed that?!

  
“I don’t…” I stammer, “How…?”

  
Roan is clearly enjoying my confusion but takes pity on me,

  
“Indra decided that the only way to ensure that Azgeda would not revolt against Ogeda was to have Octavia and I marry, it would also remove me as a contender for Heda.”

“An arranged marriage?” I clarify, “Roan, you _can’t!_ ”

  
He chuckles at that, “Is that the traditional sky-people response?”

No, but the Ark didn’t have arranged marriages, even marriages based on love weren’t celebrated but considered a routine occurrence, not even worth an extra ration.

I knew this wasn’t the same for Azgeda.

I was going to be nineteen in a few months, by my age, Roan had already been married to a woman picked out by his mother, a woman whom Nia had killed when she’d questioned her loyalty. He had refused every other offer or order of marriage after that, telling me that he wanted his next wife to be a woman he could love and trust.

Instead, he was marrying Octavia.  
  


“I’m sorry,” I tell him, “This is my fault.”

He shakes his head, “You saved my life, you cheated the conclave but this hodnes hukop, (love alliance) is my duty as king of my people.”

  
His people.

  
“You know,” I murmur, my voice scratchy, “I once said to Lexa that maybe someday she and I will owe no more to our people.”

  
She had died less than an hour later.

With the marks from my kisses still on her breasts. 

  
Roan’s snort brings me back to the moment, “That sounds like the hopeful dream of two young women,” he says and when I flinch, I see a spark of regret. He shifts closer, and looks me in the eyes, ‘

“We will _always_ owe something more to our people, Clarke. If we live to be seventy and too old to stand, we will still owe them our spoken words of wisdom, if we fall in battle, we will owe them our memory, however we die, we will owe them our legends and our names to be written in ways that suit their purpose. You and I will _never_ be free from that.”  
  


He speaks like this is a sentence from which there’s no reprieve.

Suddenly I see my life stretching out before me, long, endless days and nights of duty, having to fulfil a purpose, always separated from others by my title and my fate.

  
“I didn’t ask for this,” I protest, sniffing as my eyes sting, “I didn’t want this.”

He shrugs, “Nor did I, but there’s no use in telling our people that, they don’t care. We have our roles to play and to refuse is to lose what little power and freedom we have.”

_  
Choosing who gets to live or die is your specialty._

_Who are you? When did you become this person?_

  
“This is the cost for our privilege.” I add, choking on the words.

“Still,” I drag my fingers over my cheekbone, making sure the skin is dry, “I am sorry.”

Roan shakes his head, “We’ve been killing each other for generations, Clarke. I just want peace for my people, for our yongons (children) to grow to do something more than fight or die, if marrying Octavia brings us even a little bit closer to that, I will gladly do so.”

I nod, “Okay, then, congratulations.”  
  


He snorts and I manage a weak laugh, before checking the clock on the wall.

It didn’t look like Delfikru or Sandkru would be meeting with us today.

* * *

 

I say goodbye and head back to my quarters, needing a moment alone to just exist. Instead, I find Bellamy rapidly approaching me.

  
“We need to talk.” he tells me, his voice low and grim and I glance around, immediately weighing up our options and the likelihood of our being interrupted or overheard.

“Follow me.” I reply, leading him down the hall to the closet where Roan and I had met with the conspirators.

  
It’s only been in use five days and already smells of dust, spilt liquor and sweat.

I open the door, let him in first and check to see if anybody is there to see us go in but it’s in a dark corner and there’s nobody around.

I step in and hit the lights, studying his frame as he puts his hands on his hips, taking a breath before he turns to face me.

He’s tense, clearly something’s upset him.

I want to cup his face in my hands, I want to kiss the tension from his body.

I never knew I could ache with want for someone.

  
“What’s wrong?” I ask gently, “Tell me.”

He sniffs, glancing down at the floor before lifting his head, “Kane and I went to see Jaha,” he begins and I blink in surprise, assuming Kane would have wanted to protect him from that.

“Clarke…he told me something…” he trails off and I wait expectantly, wondering what the former Chancellor could have said to have shaken him.

  
I know the Ark had its fair share of dark secrets, after all, they’d planned to cull three hundred and twenty people and make it look like a systems malfunction.

He’s clearly debating with himself, wondering whether or not to continue and when he speaks, I’m not sure whether he thinks he’s won or lost that fight.

  
“Clarke…were you meant to succeed Jaha as Chancellor?”

  
What?

The question is so out of left field that I can’t even immediately process it and have to run it through my head a few more times before it makes sense.

Was I meant to succeed Jaha as Chancellor?

  
“I…” I stop and try to consider my answer, confused as to why we were even discussing this.

“I don’t know.” I answer honestly, my tongue darting out to wet my lips,

“What do you mean, _you don’t know_?” Bellamy asks and I shake my head, shrugging,

“I mean…maybe we discussed it…I was often in his office, he talked things over with me a lot but I don’t think anything was discussed officially.”

“It wouldn’t have been officially,” Bellamy points out, crossing his arms over his chest, “Even at its worst, the Ark still protected our democratic right to hold free elections and vote.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I answer, “Honestly, I can’t remember if anything was said.”

“You don’t remember conversations about you becoming _Chancellor_ of the _Ark_ one day?” he asks, turning away with a scoff and I press my lips together, inhaling sharply through my nose.  
  


If I was being truthful, I don’t remember much of my day-to-day life before my solitary confinement. Vague sensations of happiness, a few conversations with Wells, my mom and my dad stand out but otherwise…I have to really, really concentrate for memories to become clear and defined.

Depression will do that to you.

But what right did I have to be depressed?

I had walked out of solitary confinement with a full pardon, I had survived the landing on Earth unlike those two boys, I had survived the illness that had claimed so many of our people, I had survived the battle with the grounders, I had escaped Mt Weather, I had lived through so many of the things that had steadily depleted the number of people that I had crashed into the Earth with.

I was alive, my mom was alive, I was physically safe and healthy, I had people willing to fight with me and for me.

  
“Why does it matter?” I demand, “The Ark is gone, there’s no way it survived Praimfaya, and your sister is the heda now.”

Bellamy drags his hand over his face, and his eyes are burning, I’m clearly missing something but I don’t know what. “It matters, Princess.”

  
Princess.

Finn had called me that because I was what he believed fairy-tale princesses to look like, blonde hair, blue eyes, a body unaccustomed to the hard living of the less fortunate stations. Bellamy had been the one to make it an insult, a weapon to be used against me, to negate any smart decisions I made, any good ideas I had for the benefit of the camp.

It doesn’t matter that he eventually began to use it as an endearment, right now, it’s an attack on me, on my life of privilege and luxury before my father discovered the fault in the oxygen system. It reduces me from a person to a symbol, from someone who has saved lives to someone who needs saving and looking after, from someone who has fought their demons to someone who needs to be saved from a dragon.  

  
“Don’t…” I growl through gritted teeth, “Call me _that_.”

“What?” he snaps, “ _Princess_? It’s what you are, it sure as hell wasn’t your medical skills that made you essential personnel and got you pardoned for defying the conclave, locking the grounders outside, and leaving my sister to burn.”

  
No, it wasn’t my medical skills, it was my love for the man standing in front of me, insulting me for something I couldn’t even recall.

The rage boiling my blood at this injustice is bringing tears to my eyes and that only makes me angrier.

  
“Screw you, Bellamy!” I shout, “You put me on that goddamn list, you’re the one who decided I couldn’t be free, that I had to be down here, you don’t get to be angry.”

He opens his mouth to shout back, but stops, tilting his head slightly, “ _Free_?” he asks and I realise I said something wrong.

“I…” I run a hand through my hair, “I don’t have to listen to this.”  
  


I turn my back, taking a step to the door but he’s too quick, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back around and gripping my arms tightly against my sides. His eyes burn down into mine, fierce and demanding.

  
“What the hell do you mean, _free_ , Clarke?” he growls and I buck my right shoulder to try and shake him off but he only grips tighter in warning, “

“I’m sick of this,” I shout, “I’m sick of being Wanheda, I’m sick of being the person who decides who lives and who dies, I’m sick of seeing the hatred in people’s eyes, or the fear, I’m sick and tired and I…”

  
My voice cracks and I choke, dropping my head as my tears turn the world blurry,

  
“I wanted to give my spot for someone else, someone who hadn’t killed innocent people, who hadn’t murdered children. I just wanted my death to mean something.”

  
I feel a pull and I collide with his chest, my face turning to press against his collarbone with his chin resting on my head, hard against my scalp. 

  
“You don’t get to die, Clarke,” He orders, his voice growing softer, gentler as his hand runs up and down my back, “Not for the greater good, not for some stupid cause, you’ve sacrificed enough of yourself for our people, we both have.”

  
No, we haven’t.

He doesn’t know yet.

He hasn’t heard that he’ll have to give his little sister up to the grounder who stabbed him and left him to bleed out in the woods, who took him hostage, dragging him from Polis to the outskirts of our territory, willing to kill him to force my hand.

The grounder who I brought down into the bunker.

When he finds out, he’ll hate me forever.

He’ll regret not dropping me into that spike pit that second day on Earth.

And every time he saved my life after.  

So, I tell myself to enjoy this moment, because it might be the last time we’re together like this.

I move my face slightly to the right, so my ear is closer to his heart, able to pick up on its beat and I close my eyes, a small smile gracing my lips and I use the tempo to calm myself down.

I exhale slowly, and he shifts on his feet, making me worry he’s going to release me and I snake my arms around his back, linking my hands together and effectively trapping him against me.

I hear him huff in amusement and he cups my head, his fingers stroking my temple and through my hair, the act soothing but also a level of physical intimacy we haven’t shared before, and when I tilt my face up, gently dislodging his chin, he lowers his own until our foreheads are pressed together.

Our breathing is already in sync and I keep my focus on his lips until I can bring myself to look up into his eyes.

  
“I don’t know why Jaha told you what he did,” I say quietly, “But I’m sorry it hurt you.”

He exhales through his nose, “That’s probably what he was hoping for.”

“You can’t let him get to you,” I beg him, “You’re so much better than him.”

His lips twitch with amusement, “You are!” I repeat firmly and instinctively raise my eyes to meet his.

  
And I’m lost, because his eyes have always been the most expressive part of him, allowing me to read his thoughts, his emotions and his feelings before he even speaks a single word.

Right now, I can tell he wants to kiss me.

Because I want to kiss him just as much.

But we can’t, not with so many secrets between us.

His hand is stroking my temple as he moves to close the inch of space between our lips and I have to move quickly to get one of my hands up, pressing my fingers against his mouth and leaning back as much as I can in his arms.

  
“Bellamy,” I whisper, my heart breaking at the confusion in his eyes, “I want to,” I reassure him quickly, “I really, really want to kiss you, but not yet.”

  
Confusion is replaced by a wicked gleam I haven’t seen since the days of the Dropship camp and he presses a kiss to my fingertips, his eyelids flickering and desire flashes through my body.

I bite down on my lips so I don’t end up kissing him,

  
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I swear, blushing slightly, “Bellamy…I…”

  
He nudges my fingers with his nose and presses his lips to my palm, his eyes opening to meet my gaze with a bare want that makes my breath stutter,

  
“Kiss me, Princess,” he says, my moniker now a teasing endearment and I’m forgetting everything that exists outside this storeroom. My fingers tremble and he lowers his head slightly, moving down to my wrist which he grazes with his teeth, and my free hand is resting on his shoulder to support myself, shifting his shirt and touching his collarbone is somehow the most dangerous thing I’ve done all week.

  
“We can’t…” I protest, even as I can’t really remember why I can’t kiss him breathless.

  
He hums, nodding as if I’ve made a valid point but his lips are twitching and at least one of us finds the situation funny and not a test of inner strength.

He takes my arm, kissing my wrist and draping it over his shoulder, before bending his knees and gripping my thighs, quickly lifting me up so that I have to wrap my legs around his waist, shouting in surprise as he holds me there to make sure I have a firm hand on him before he walks us over to the wall, pressing me against it with his hard body and I groan at the delicious temptation.  
  
“You’re an ass.” I tell him, making him chuckle, “Only half the time.”

  
He grins and I want to kiss him so badly that I think it’s a physical ache. He ducks his head, his breath warm on my neck and I’m feeling desire coil in my stomach.   
  
  
“Kiss me, Clarke.” He whispers and I barely manage to shake my head, even as I’m wrapping my legs tighter around him and running my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Not yet,” I manage to say, “When everything’s settled down here…”

  
He chuckles and his lips brush my neck, my eyelids heavy and I close them, trying to pray for a strength to resist when it’s the last thing in the world I want to do.  

  
“Kiss me…” he dares me and I’m pushing the back of his head gently, his lips touching my skin, his mouth wet and hot, making me buck against him as he nips with his teeth and soothes with his tongue.

  
I should kiss him.

Is the door locked?

I should take off his shirt and press my lips to his collarbone, his stomach, the scar on his thigh he’d got that day when Roan stabbed him.

 _No_.

With a groan, I bring my head down, knocking him out of place and I kiss the side of his face, feeling his cheekbone hard against my lips. I wriggle slightly and he gets the message, lowering us carefully until my feet are on the floor, making sure I’m steady before releasing me.

  
I put my hands on his chest, patting it and spreading my fingers wide, “It’s not you,” I swear, “It really isn’t you.”

  
I don’t finish before he’s laughing, with a smile that shows his white teeth and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that, so carefree and happy.

  
“I…” I clear my throat and dart around him, making it all the way to the door before my resolve shatters and I’m pivoting sharply, lunging towards him and reaching up to cup my hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down so I can kiss him.

  
The kiss is fierce, passionate, messy and I’ve unbalanced us enough that I hear and feel Bellamy staggering backward, into a shelf and I break away long enough to check if he or the furniture is broken, “You’re fine,” I promise, “You’re okay.”

  
His hands are on my hips, his thumbs rubbing smooth circles and his eyes are full of confusion, but not hurt, he’s not upset, he doesn’t think I’ve rejected him or that I don’t want him and that’s all that matters.

  
“When everything down here is settled,” I murmur, “I’ll kiss you as many times as you want, if you still want me to, I promise.”

Bellamy straightens up and presses his lips to my forehead, “I will _always_ want you, Clarke.”

  
I hoped that was true.

* * *

 

He leaves the storeroom first, sneaking out into the hallway and I wait ten minutes before leaving, trying to get my thoughts settled and my mind in order.

Bellamy’s lips had been dry and slightly rough.

Octavia planned to marry Roan.

He’d held me with a contradiction of fierce gentleness.

Delfikru and Sankru were planning a coup.

Bellamy…

A bang on the storeroom door has me jumping in surprise and I pull it open to see an Azgedan warrior standing there.

  
“Haihefa (king) wants you,” he grumbles, “The natrona (traitors) to Wonkru wish to speak with him.”

I nod, “Okay,” I lie, “I’m ready.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, this chapter was a little dark re: Clarke's mental health, but I feel as though the show never covered the ramifications for Clarke spending a year in solitary confinement. A basic google search will tell you that even a few months in solitary will leave the average prisoner acutely psychotic or actively suicidal, none of these prisoners are sixteen/seventeen year old girls who watched their father executed for what they believed to be their mistake and believe that they'll be executed on their eighteenth birthday. Yet, we apparently have Clarke wandering around on Earth pretty okay considering the hell she's been going through for the last two years.


	15. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake 

 

 

There is no true darkness down in the bunker. Not that I’ve discovered anyway.

The halls merely dim their lights so that those wandering around during the regulated night hours can still see.

In our dorms, during our sleep shifts, the clock on the wall casts an electric blue haze that doesn’t exist in nature but is still comforting in its own way.

In the Trikru-Skai-kru bar, there’s a solitary lamp that sits on the table in front of me, as I lean on my forearms and wait for the signal.

The door slides open, catching slightly at the end and a man with a branded face finds me,

  
“Taim don kom op.” (It is time) he tells me, gruffly, stepping back out into the hall to show that he clearly doesn’t care if I join him or not.

  
He’s eight steps ahead of me but I don’t bother catching up to him, keeping a steady pace so that he has to pause at the elevator and wait for me to reach him.

He might not give a damn, but he’d been given an order by his king to fetch me and would probably be in trouble if he returned empty handed.

We ride the elevator as far down as it can go, a descent into Hell and I see his hands twitch at his sides.

He isn’t used to the motion, and when it jolts slightly, he jumps, his eyes widening slightly as if he expects the machine to either trap us inside forever or drop us to our deaths.

Well, at least we were headed in the right direction if it did.

  
When the doors open, I let him off first, assuming that I’ll be following on his heels again but he waits for me and we walk side by side into a dark, tiny room at the very end of the long hallway.

Inside, my eyes find Dr. Griffin first, Jackson loyally at her side and I see that they’re both calm, even though they are literally surrounded by armed grounders.

Their king in the very centre, standing by a medical chamber, gazing down into it clinically and I move forward carefully, expecting with every step to be forcibly stopped by one of the guards.

He looks up, meeting my eyes as I approach and there’s no warning in them, no open hostility so I stand beside him, exhaling through my nose as my fingers twitch.

They hadn’t reattached Echo’s head.

Instead, they’d merely placed it as close to her neck as possible, but a careful observer would see past the flesh to the white bed of the chamber underneath her.

Her eyes were closed at least and they’d washed the blood off her.

  
“Her face should have been painted white,” Roan mutters under his breath, “But she was banished, so she can’t have an Azgedan funeral.”

  
I ignore him and take a step back, finding a spot against the wall to watch the proceedings.

It had taken four days for this room to be found, a tiny crematorium on the lowest level, unmarked on the maps and with a bolted door.

We mightn’t have found it for another month or so if we hadn’t been actively looking for a means of body disposal.

Echo had been banished and died a traitor’s death, so there wouldn’t be any ceremony behind this, but Kane had told me when they would be burning the body.

Early enough in the morning so that we wouldn’t be seen walking the halls but late enough that we could have slept the night before.

Not that I had even tried.

Abby holds a remote control in her hand and when everyone has settled into their places, she looks to Roan who nods once and presses a button.

The flames that fill the chamber are almost painfully bright, leaving spots on my retinas and making me blink repeatedly.

It’s strange to be looking at fire, to be standing so close to it and not feel any heat. There are goosebumps on my arms from the chill of the filtered air.

  
As far as I can guess, it took about ten minutes for my sister to behead Echo.

It takes less than five to reduce her to ash.

A woman. A human being. A glass jar. 

  
Jackson screws the lid onto the jar and begins sanitizing the chamber as the grounders exit in no particular order and I make my way over to him,

  
“What’s going to happen with…” I jerk my chin to the object in his hand, unable to say either ‘her’ or ‘it’

Jackson only shrugs, “It…uh…hasn’t been decided yet,” he admits, “Um…Kane suggested a memorial tree for regular deaths and perhaps the rest labelled and put in storage.”

  
Storage.

I have this sudden image of Echo’s ashes next to tins of corn and want to laugh even though there’s not a single thing funny about any of this.

Perhaps in five years, when we got out of this hell, if I was still alive, I could scatter her ashes somewhere.

I thank him and turn to Abby but she only fixes me with a cold glare before storming out.

Not sure what I expected.

  
The hall is almost empty when I emerge and seeing who is waiting for me, I want to turn on my heel and go the other direction.

But I have no idea if there’s another elevator on this floor or even where to start looking and I’m too tired and too pissed off to deal with that much inconvenience.

  
“What?” I demand as I storm past the grounder king, clenching my hands into fists as he falls into step beside me,

“You came,” he notes, “I’m surprised.”

  
The skin on my wrists still itch from where the ropes had been bound, I resist the urge to rub them now.

  
“You banished her,” I point out, “And only got discharged last night.”

“She served me loyally,” Roan counters, “Until she didn’t.”

  
Two lives in two sentences.

  
“That’s how it is with grounders, huh?” I say, “Second someone stops being useful to you, you abandon them.”

“Is it different with Skai-kru?” he challenges mildly, “Your Chancellor Pyke was executed by your sister the moment ALIE was destroyed, your Chancellor Jaha is locked away somewhere, in this bunker, and Clarke…”

“You done?” I interrupt, turning to face him quickly enough that he nearly walks right into me, he doesn’t take a step back however, probably hoping the proximity will intimidate me.

“You blame her for Octavia’s decision,” he states, oversimplifying the whole damn situation,

“But both she and your sister are doing what’s necessary to ensure peace.”

“Killing you would have the same effect.” I spit in his face but he doesn’t even flinch,

“I’m sure your Skai-kru knowledge of monarchies is more advanced than mine,” he replies,

“But what I learnt from my grandfather and mother would suggest otherwise.”

  
I exhale through my nose and look over my shoulder to the elevator,

  
“Listen, I get that my sister has to marry you, but I don’t have to like it and there is no way in hell that you will ever be part of our family.” I growl,

“That would have been Lincoln, but he died. You will never be anything more than something she and I have to live with until it’s safe to leave the bunker and you can go back to your freaking ice caps.”

“I look forward to it.” He quips as I stomp away.

* * *

 

 _Three days earlier_.  
  


I’m on my third run-through of the Trikru quarters, and cursing the lack of communication we have in this damn bunker when I spot Clarke leaning against a door, chatting with a guard, her eyes darting around until they find me and she raises her chin.

  
“I’m looking for Indra.” I tell her, approaching quickly and stopping a little closer than necessary, reaching for her elbow and somehow brushing her waist as she turns and starts leading me up the hall,

“She’s with Kane,” she explains, “Co-ordinating a grounder/Skai-kru operation.”

  
What?

I frown at this information, wondering what the hell was going on that the new training regime had been scrapped, no-one had bothered to tell me and why it was big enough that our guards needed grounder backup.

  
“Something I need to know?” I ask, letting my annoyance show and she nods, her fingers trailing up my arm as she takes my elbow and steers me towards the infirmary.

  
The empty infirmary.

  
“I’m surprised your mom hasn’t tied him down at this point.” I state, jerking my chin to the bed where the Azgeda king was still meant to be resting.

“He’s with Indra and Kane as well.” Clarke explains, closing the door behind us,

“Part of the operation?”

“Kind of,” she allows, “For the last few days, he and I have been meeting with Delfikru and Sangedakru to discuss overthrowing Octavia and establishing a new commander.”

  
I turn my head so fast I’m momentarily distracted when I don’t crick my neck, I stare Clarke down but she meets my gaze unwaveringly,

  
“Did I miss that memo?” I ask and she shakes her head, “Honestly, we weren’t going to tell anyone until we had all the information but Harper overhead us talking and went straight to Octavia.”

  
Good to know we still had her loyalty.

  
“Does Kane have enough to build a case against them?”

She nods, “They’ll be made an example of, hopefully discourage anyone else, convince them to just wait out the five years.”

  
I could live with that.

  
“Guessing there was a reason you didn’t tell me?” I prompt and she looks at me expectantly,

“Because you would have reacted so well to the information.” She responds drily and I tilt my head, acknowledging that truth.

  
History has shown how well I handled threats against my sister.

  
“Well,” I cross my arms and lean against the wall, “I just thought that coups were something couples did together,” I quip, waiting for a breathless moment before a smile breaks across her face and she shakes her head at me,

“Do we need to have an exclusivity talk?” I tease, “Because I’m not sure I want you overthrowing regimes with just anybody.”

  
Her shoulders twitch and she bites the inside of her bottom lip to try and hide her amusement before giving up.

  
“Bellamy, you are great boyfriend material,” she says, putting her hand on my arm,

“I’m just not sure you’re what I’m looking for in a revolutionary, you know?”

  
I chuckle, already planning the counter-argument, perhaps a quick reminder of ‘whatever the hell we want’, but I’m pretty sure play-fighting isn’t the most productive thing we could be doing right now.

Or even the best way to procrastinate.

I reach for a loose strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear and she leans into my touch, encouraging me to inch closer, closing the tiny excuse of space between us,

  
“I really want to kiss you right now.” I murmur, our foreheads nearly touching and she nods,

“I know,” she sighs, “but we have to go save the bunker.”

* * *

 

Octavia actually looks surprised when Clarke and I walk into the room side-by-side and her eyes drop to my holstered gun, as if expecting it to be smoking.

  
“Are the conspirators still alive?” she asks and I shrug,

“You’re the commander,” I declare, “I follow your orders.”

She snorts, “Now that, I could get used to.”

  
We share a look and matching grins before Indra clears her throat, grabbing our attention.

  
“Will you follow Kane?” she asks me and I have a mental image of me following him into battle dressed as centurions, but I’m guessing she means will I follow his orders too. I nod.  

I move to stand beside him, “What’s the plan?”

“Roan and Clarke have arranged to meet the traitors down in this tunnel, by the retrofitted cell,” Kane announces, pointing to a blue-print of the bunker, “Using the excuse that they won’t be seen by any Trikru or Skai-kru down there.”

“So, when we arrest them, we won’t have to move them far to lock them up,” I surmise, “Good call.”

“Assuming the plan goes to hell, as most do,” Roan interjects, “We aim to overwhelm them with Trikru, Trishanakru and Azgeda warriors, hopefully outnumbering any backup they bring by ten-to-one.”

“Guns?” I ask Kane, watching as his brow furrows, “Enclosed space.” he points out. 

“As a deterrent?” I suggest and he nods, “Potentially.”

  
With Clarke and the king down in the tunnel, we couldn’t afford to tip off the conspirators that something was wrong, so Indra quietly rounded up the warriors in groups of three or more, having them hide in the rooms near the meeting point and in the stairwells.

I arrange for Miller and I to take position hidden behind large loading bins that had been shifted from the laundry area. I argue that he and I are the best sharp shooters in the bunker- which I suppose means the best sharp shooters in the world- but the way Kane barely even listened when I spoke showed he had already planned on my being there.

Then again, I can’t remember the last time I let Clarke walk into a situation without me on her six.  

I keep an eye on them while they wait for the Delfikru and Sandkru would-be-conspirators to arrive, the two of them looking tired but determined and I can feel the anticipation building.

The elevator doors open and the men step out, and immediately, I know something is wrong.

They don’t just look angry, they look furious.

And their swords are drawn.

Clarke’s eyes widen but otherwise she doesn’t react, but Roan immediately grabs her arm and pulls her behind him,

  
“What is this?” he demands as they storm forward, “We came to speak, not fight.”

“Natrona!” (traitor) one of them shouts at him, “You think we have not heard? You think we do not have spies in Trikru quarters?”

“Wan daun!” (Stop) Clarke calls, trying to get past Roan, “Whatever you heard, we can gouva klin.” (explain)

  
A sword is raised and I curse, flicking the safety off my rifle and taking aim. I can take out his kneecaps without killing him.

  
“Gouva klin?!” the grounder echoes, “Gouva klin chomouda Azgeda haihefa na backon Skai-ripa. Du laik na em houmon?”   
(Explain why Azgeda’s king will ally with sky-reaper. He will be her husband)

  
I can hear my blood pounding in my ears and I blink, my eyelids feeling heavy as I try to process what I just heard.

My trigedasleng is nowhere near as good as Octavia’s- who speaks it fluently- or even Clarke and Kane, who can understand it and hold conversations switching between the two languages. But I picked out certain words.

Such as my sister’s blood-soaked title and the word for husband.

Enough to know that my sister is marrying the king.

  
“Sha,” (Yes) Clarke says, unaware that her lack of surprise is breaking my heart,

“Osir gouva klin.” (We can explain)

  
She knew.


	16. Bellamy Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as pointed out, last chapter was all over the place, that's because I originally intended for it to be much longer but hit a mental road block. Sorry for the confusion.

 

_Bellamy Blake_

 

One red dot.

Bright against his dark clothing.

Right over his heart.

  
_“Bellamy!”_

  
Clarke shouts my name and time was, I would have moved mountains to hear her voice.

Now, it’s faint against the pounding in my head and the ringing in my ears.

The sheer fury.

Miller is at my shoulder, the substitute for the angel that called in sick years ago and never came back to work, he’s holding off the other Skai-kru guards in the vicinity, trying to talk me down

  
“Come on, man,” he hisses, “Don’t do this, not with all these witnesses.”

  
Like I could do this later and _not_ be the primary suspect.

He reaches for my arm but I jerk my elbow, silently warning him to stay back and the second of distraction has me turning back to the scope to see the dot is now on a different body.

Clarke has stepped in front of the king.

She was betting that the second she was in my line of fire, that I’d shift the barrel up to the ceiling, flicking the safety on as I did so and then unload the clip.

I don’t even blink and the red dot continues to mark the flesh of her shoulder exposed by her shirt.

She waits, with each passing second realization dawns that I know who’s in my path and I have no intention of backing down.

This rifle is powerful enough that the bullet would pass through her shoulder into Roan’s heart.

She would survive.

The king would be dead.

As he should be.

A movement at my left and a hand settles on the rifle, pressing down gently and I’ve watched that hand grow and age for seventeen years.

  
“Hey, big brother,” Octavia murmurs, “You can’t kill him.”

  
I disagree with that statement on every level.

  
But I allow her to push the rifle down until it’s pointing at the floor and I flick the safety on, turning to her, “You can’t do this.”

Her mouth twists in a parody of a smile, “I’m the Heda,” she counters, drily,

“I can do what I want.”

“O,” I moan in her name in anguish and she steps in front of me, cupping my face and tilting it down towards hers, shielding us from the audience.

“It’s different,” she swears to me, “I’m choosing to do this, for the sake of Ogeda, for the sake of peace.”

  
Choosing.

It’s not choosing when you tell someone like my sister that she has to sacrifice their life for the sake of the entire population of Earth.

Octavia was too good a person to be selfish.

I swallow and try not to cry. 

  
 “Whose idea was this?” I demand and she must hear the unspoken accusation in my voice.

“Indra's.”

  
I wonder if she’s lying.

* * *

 

I don’t say anything when she releases me, or when, by unspoken unilateral agreement, people begin clearing the immediate area.

Quickly and quietly, they pile into the elevator or take the stairs until there’s only one person left.

I sink down against the wall until I’m crouching, my clasped hands pressing against my forehead,

  
“Get out.” I order without looking up.

“Bellamy.” Clarke utters, stuck on my name, as if she doesn’t know how to move forward when I’m not jumping to attention.

  
I’ve never ignored her before now.

It’s not something the princess is used to.

  
“You knew,” I growl between clenched teeth, “You knew my sister was going to marry Roan.”

A shuffling step forward, “Yes.” She admits.

“In the store-room,” I begin, wanting to know just how cruel she was, “When we…when I kissed you, you said…” I pause, feeling sick as I recall her words,

“That once everything was settled, you’d kiss me as many times as I wanted, if I still wanted you to.”

I lift my head, my eyes burning, “You meant after my sister had sacrificed herself.”

  
She’s pale and her jaw is clenched, her gaze on the floor, betraying her guilt.

We had destroyed so many lives, separately and together, but this…she had found the one thing that I could never forgive her for. 

  
“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” she blurts out, trying to defend herself, “Or any of the negotiations, I only found out when Roan told me.”

“But did you even try to find a way out of it?” I demand, “A way to save my sister? Did you even consider it?”

She swallows, “I haven’t had the time…”

“ _Clarke,_ ” I roar, my voice loud in the empty space, “ _Did you try?_ ”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, “No.”

 

How many times can a heart shatter before it stops working altogether?

I had to be near breaking point.

  
“We’re done.” I announce, pushing myself into a standing position, walking towards the elevator, “Done.” I echo.

“ _What?_   _No_ ,” she stammers, turning on her heel to chase after me, pulling on my arm, “Bellamy.”

I shake her off and catch her wrist, gripping it hard,

“Do you know the things people on Factory station had to do to survive? What my _mother_ had to do to keep O safe, to keep ahead of the guards?”

The woman who stares death in the face without flinching, blushes at the mere thought of prostitution, of sexual exploitation, something she would have never seen firsthand in Alpha Station, perhaps she’d heard about it through gossip whispered to her by her peers when they had one of their famed sleepovers. 

  
“You knew and you didn’t think that I wouldn’t rather see every last person on this Earth burn from the radiation before subjecting my sister to the same fate?”

“You think I could ever want to kiss you after that?” I hiss, leaning into her,

“Or touch you?”

“We are done, Wanheda,” I spit in her face, “I can’t even look at you without feeling disgusted.”

  
I push her wrist away, causing her to stumble and I stride into the elevator, forcing myself to look straight ahead as the doors close.

The last thing I hear is the sound of her weeping.

* * *

 

The two clans notice their people missing by nightfall.

They’re asking questions by dinner time but smart enough to wait til the next morning before bringing it up with Octavia.

And with Indra, Kane and I flanking her, she explains exactly where Delfikru and Sangedakru could expect to find their missing warriors, or, they could wait until their trial.

Delfikru has the nerve to demand leniency for their natrona (traitor) but Octavia surprises everyone in the room by granting it to both clans, swearing that if the conspirators were found guilty, they would be imprisoned instead of executed.

  
“I can’t let killing the guilty become too easy,” she tells us, once the two clans have cleared out of her office, “Not like it was on the Ark, not when this is all that’s left of the human race.”

  
Both Kane and Indra take a moment to tell her how proud they are of her, how Lincoln would agree with her decision, even though he could never have predicted my sister becoming Commander to what was now one clan.

  
“How proud would he be of you two marrying my sister to Azgeda?” I ask, my voice thick with sarcasm and they have the decency to flinch.

My little sister sighs and rubs her forehead, “I should look at these reports.” She murmurs and Kane and Indra clear out to go find someone else to betray.

  
I sink down into the same armchair I was deposited into when Clarke and Jaha stole the bunker, stretching my legs out and Octavia turns in her chair,

  
“Get out.” She orders but I don’t shift.

“Make me.” I challenge.

She raises her eyebrows in surprise but then shrugs, “Fine, sit there and be bored. No skin off my nose.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

  
I know that if I watch her she’ll snap and throw something at me, so I set my eyes on the windows, watching the people in the entry chamber below us.

I think I’m supposed to be on patrol shift right now, or finally beginning the training of the new guards, I know in the back of my mind that I have something scheduled but Kane can damn well cover for me.

Octavia aside, the amount of times I was left scrambling to cover guard shifts, ensure that Arkadia was adequately protected or defended, or run a mission on little to no notice because he’d decided to go to Polis, or stay in Polis, or sneak out to meet Indra or screw Abby, should have earned me the right to leave him in the lurch for once.

Until the last possible moment, I’m going to spend every second I can with my sister, hoping that if I shadow her long enough, stare at her hard enough, I’ll come up with a solution. A way for her to keep the peace without whoring herself out.

Except that my skill is rescue missions, or, when a plan goes south, improvising just enough to get our people out with as few casualties as possible.

Clarke is the one who can walk into a situation, and with little to no information, start convincing our enemies to lay down their weapons and ally with Skai-kru for high-risk stakes and no chances of reward.

Except she’s made herself scarce, I haven’t even caught a glimpse of blonde hair since the op and I’m thankful she at least has the decency to not try for a confrontation.

Perhaps she’s finally considering my feelings.

A sure sign that it is the end of the world.

Still, it’s one thing to tell myself and her that we’re done, that she’s dead to me and another to get used to not having her in my life. I keep entering rooms and looking for her first, even though she’s not there, adjusting my stride to match hers even though she’s not walking with me, filing away questions or bits of information in my mind to talk over with her later, even though I’m never going to willingly speak to her again.

  
Like when Octavia huffs in frustration and hands me a tablet, “This is the water production and consumption report,” she tells me, “I can’t make sense of the numbers.”

  
I can’t either.

Back at the dropship, we’d dealt with two-digit numbers, the water was collected in six barrels made from scrap and I’d ordered them refilled every second day, never to drop below three barrels. With food, I’d sent out hunters every three days, and left the sorting and rationing of meat to others, so that when people got hungry or unhappy, they’d be blaming someone else.

Clarke had been the one to crouch down and trace out long mathematical equations in the dirt, looking down at the numbers with a frown, tapping at them with the broken twig before telling me how much water and food our people were consuming and whether we could sustain that amount or whether we needed to cut back.

But I’m not going to seek her out.

The Griffin’s might have been in charge of engineering, medical and the resource office on the Ark, but we were as far away from the space station as we could physically get now, and I’m sure there were other people just as competent, even if they weren’t from Alpha Station.

Octavia was in charge now, there wouldn’t be a class system anymore, with the elites taking everything and everyone they wanted.

  
“We shouldn’t just be training grounders as guards,” I say, looking up at my sister,

“Their farmers should be growing crops with our farmers, their cooks are probably better than ours, and I don’t know anything about generating water or purifying it, but there’s probably grounders who could be apprenticed.”

Octavia leans against her desk and crosses her arms, “Look at you, my big brother, working for Wonkru.”

“You are wonkru,” I counter, standing up and handing her the tablet, “I want to do right by you, O, it’s what I’ve always wanted.”

Her face softens and she bumps me with her shoulder, “I know.”

“I could speak to Monty and Raven?” I volunteer, “Have them figure out the details?”

She nods, but when I stand up and make my way to the door, she calls my name,

  
“Bell…” she pauses, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but the marriage is going ahead, no matter how much we start integrating the clans, it won’t be in time to stop this hukop.” (alliance)

I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, “If we could just delay it for a year…”

“I can’t kill him without his warriors coming for my head,” she interrupts, “I can’t imprison him without his warriors coming for my head, besides, as long as he’s alive, people will see him as an alternative for Wonkru, unless he’s allied with me.”

  
And the only way for the alliance to be accepted was if they were married.

I know this because I’ve had this argument with Octavia, Indra and Kane.

And there’s no point in having the same argument again.

* * *

 

Grounders being arrested for planning to overthrow my sister should have been the main topic for the rumour mill in the bunker.

Or hell, perhaps the fact that I’d pointed a gun at Roan or that Clarke and I were clearly avoiding each other.

But somehow, even though everyone involved had done their best to keep things quiet, I hear my name shouted across the food hall and raise my head to see Jasper making a straight line for me.

He’s stumbling, clearly unsteady on his feet and pale, looking like he’s just rolled out of bed, but his hand is firm on my arm and his expression determined.

  
“Is it true?” he asks, “Octavia…?”

“Not here,” I snap before he can shout the information across the room.

“Outside.”

  
I drag him to the hall and step close so we won’t be overhead,

  
“What have you heard?” I demand, glaring into his wide eyes.

“That Octavia plans to marry the ice King,” he divulges, “For some sort of peace treaty.”

I nod, dropping my gaze to his unlaced shoes, “That’s the plan.”

He stammers, “What the…are you _floating_ kidding me?!”

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” I point out, “But I’m not happy about it either.”

“Not happy?” Jasper echoes, “Bellamy, when I heard the rumour, I said there was no way it could be true because otherwise you would be under arrest for having killed whats-his-name with your bare hands.”

“Roan,” I supply his name automatically, “Jasper, Indra and Octavia think this alliance will secure her position as Commander.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “There has to be another way.”

“If you have another solution, then let me hear it!” I beg, losing my temper,

“Because right now, this is the best option they have.”

  
He takes a step back and I’m seeing disappointment and disgust in his eyes,

  
“My god,” he slurs, “You and Clarke, is there anybody you two won’t sacrifice?”

  
My fist connects with his face before I even register what the hell I’m doing, he staggers back and I instinctively reach out to catch him,

  
“Octavia is my sister!” I growl, holding him by the collar, “You honestly think I won’t be searching for a way to save her right up until the last moment?!”

He snorts, eyes darting as people stop to watch us, “Right, you tell yourself whatever lies it is that help you and Wanheda sleep at night. Hey…maybe you could make it a double-wedding.”

  
I want to hit him again, the anger coursing through my veins is telling me to punch something, to break something, to destroy everything around me, but I breathe through my nose until the heat starts to leave my face,

  
I drop him back to his feet, “You’re cut off,” I state, “No more alcohol, no more drugs, I’m sick of carrying your weight.”

He smirks, even as he glances uneasily at the guards who’re standing to attention nearby, ready to step in if I need. I rock back on my heel, see he’s not about to retaliate and walk back to the food hall, “Give my love to Wanheda.” He calls and I manage not to flinch.

Barely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I nearly wrote that Bellamy towered over Clarke at one point, but then I realised something and did a quick scroll through of the 100 to double-check. Bellamy has never towered over Clarke, as in, he has never used his height as a means of intimidating her, he has never pushed into her personal space, even when he grabbed her wrist in 1x02 or tried to stop her leaving the tent in 1x04, or any time they're angry with each other, he always maintained a distance. So often in visual media we see men using their physical presence to crowd into women's personal spaces as a means of unnerving them (Jaha when he was ordering Abby to reinstate him as Chancellor) that it's nice to see that Bellamy (or Bob) doesn't do this.


	17. Dr. Abigail Griffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This covers events leading up to and after the last two chapters.

 

 _Dr Abigail Griffin_  

 

I’m not glad that Echo is dead but I’m not mourning her either.

Considering how many times that woman called for my daughter’s death, that I’m ambivalent on the matter shows moral fibre.

As much as one can claim moral fibre on this Earth, or underneath it.

However, I am concerned about what to do with her body, I had Jackson and Miller going through the bunker looking for some sort of morgue or- hopefully- a crematorium, but right now, we had Echo in an old Earth body bag and we were hoping that she didn’t start decomposing.

Aside from that, we had cases of radiation sickness, from those who had consumed contaminated fish or water prior to entering the bunker, and the standard cuts and bruises from every-day life.

Mostly, the grounders were still avoiding the infirmary, preferring their own healers and this could become an issue later.

If contagion broke out, I wanted to be the first person to know, not to find out when it had already infected half the population.

We had already spoken to the healers once, bringing them to the infirmary and suggesting that we work together using a blend of Ark science and Grounder medicine to treat our patients.

This idea hadn’t exactly been met with thunderous applause, and since then, we hadn’t had a single healer return.

I’m not sure whether it was disdain for science and tech after the ALIE debacle, their issues with Skai-kru, the presence of Roan’s guards or perhaps…

Perhaps having had my daughter in the infirmary was a mistake.

Wanheda.

Not many people want the Commander of _Death_ to be in charge of their recovery.

It will take time to earn the trust of the grounders, for Clarke to become a healer instead of the…person they know her as now.

Down here, we have nothing but time.

I hear my name called but without urgency, Kane’s quiet tones and I head to the door with a smile on my face that only widens when I see my daughter on his heels, seemingly surprised that he’s there.

He seems confused by her appearance as well, so I’m assuming they didn’t arrive together.

  
“What’s up?” I ask them, and Kane glances to Clarke, but she nods, letting him speak first.

“Today, we plan to arrest those conspiring against Octavia and Ogeda,” he explains,   
  
“Roan will be there, as will Clarke,” he turns to her, “With our guards backing them up,” he adds, assuring me and warning her, “Still, if they choose to resist arrest, there may be wounded.”

“Casualties.” Clarke interjects but Kane shakes his head, “No, Octavia’s ordered us to take them alive.”

“I’ll have Jackson and myself on standby,” I decide, turning to my daughter, “Your turn.”

She huffs, “Roan is going to need adrenaline and painkillers. And he won’t be coming back to the infirmary after this, he needs to start leading his people again.”

  
From what I’d seen, he’d been ruling his people from his bed, certainly his people had been marching through my infirmary in packs of two and three hour after hour.

But I suppose my daughter meant that he had to be living amongst his people, showing them that as much as their world had changed, he was still there to guide them.

  
“Alright,” I accept, striding over to the drawers and taking out a needle, “Adrenaline,” I state, placing it in her outstretched hand, “And…” I rummage around until I find the tablets,

“Painkill… _Clarke!_ ”

  
My daughter had opened her jacket to conceal the needle in her inner pocket and in doing so, had exposed just a hint of her upper arms.

Anyone else might have missed them, but I was her mother and had been on the lookout for injuries since we had reunited on this Earth.

Her upper arms were bruised, long thin bruises that hadn’t had time to discolour.

She hastily slides her jacket back into place but I’m cupping her jaw in my hands,

  
“Who did this to you?” I demand, shaking with anger and her eyes go wide,

“Mom, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” I argue, “You’re…Jackson,” I call over my shoulder, “Get me a cold compress and…”

“Abby,” Marcus comes up behind me and takes my shoulders, “Let me.”

  
He ushers me back, away from my daughter who I release reluctantly and he ducks his head to look into her eyes,   
  
  
“Clarke,” he prompted, his voice soft and soothing, “Are you alright?”

Clarke’s eyes flit left to right and her cheeks are red, “I’m fine,” she lies, darting around us both to pick up the painkillers, “I’ll see you later.” She tells Marcus, striding from the room and he has to stop me from going after her,

“Abby,” he murmurs as I try to shake him off, “Abby, she’s okay.”

“Okay?!” I echo, “She’s been hurt.”

  
Why am I the only one concerned?

There’s a hint of a smile on his face and I want to smack it off,

  
“No,” he counters, “Those weren’t signs of abuse.”

“She was embarrassed,” he continues, as Jackson approaches, pivots smoothly on his heel and walks straight back to the other room,   
  
“Not ashamed, I know abuse, those bruises came from someone gripping her a little too roughly in a...moment of passion.”

  
A moment of passion.

He means sex.

Females generally weren’t so rough. So Niylah wasn’t the culprit.

And in his current state, Roan would be lucky to survive a passionate kiss without re-injuring himself.

That left one potential culprit in the bunker.

I glare up at Marcus,   
  
  
“I don’t care how _passionate_ he is. If Bellamy ever bruises her like that again, I’ll cut his fingers off without anaesthetic.”

  
The hell with his surrogate parental relationship, I will never prioritize the feelings of my lover or Bellamy Blake over my daughter’s well-being.

* * *

 

On the Ark, I ate three meals a day at whatever hours I felt like it.

I usually had breakfast before leaving for work, lunch when the med-bay grew quiet and dinner whenever I thought I could leave for the night.

These meals were always waiting for me in my apartment, even if Jake and Clarke had long since eaten and gone to bed.

And I’d treasured those quiet moments, standing in our kitchen-space, enjoying the peace and looking out the window to the Earth we were rotating.

On this same Earth, food shortages had been a common occurrence, but when meals had been available, Jackson had brought them to me and I could eat standing up or take five minutes to sit down if I’d wanted.

I’m not used to having to eat according to a schedule.

Even less in a mess hall filled with strangers, metal scraping against metal, people chewing loudly, calling to each other in Trigedasleng.

And those that don’t have their faces in their plates are glaring at me and the other Skai-kru diners.

It makes it hard to digest the meal.

I distract myself by observing Jackson, making sure he eats everything on his plate and drinks all the water. He looks well, a little pale and bag under his eyes, signs of exhaustion but he’s had those since before we crashed to Earth.

Knowing that he’ll follow me from the hall, I wait until he’s finished before I stand up, taking both our plates and giving him a pointed look when he tries to take them from me.

I need a medical assistant, not a servant.

We return to the infirmary and wait around until we receive a radio call from Marcus informing us that the mission had been successful, the conspirators were under arrest and, for the moment at least, there didn’t appear to be any immediate threat.

I sign off and order Jackson to bed, knowing that he is bunking in the same room as Bellamy- a sheer coincidence- and Miller- not a coincidence.

Myself, I technically have an assigned bunk in a room with other single women from the Ark, but I haven’t so much as turned down the sheets on this bed.

For twenty years, I slept in a large bed with Jake.

For sixteen years, I slept in an apartment with my daughter in the next room.

For thirteen months, I lay in cold sheets, staring up at the ceiling, trying to accustom myself to the new silence.

I’m not used to sleeping surrounded by strangers.

And these women will have questions, about Clarke, about Marcus, about Octavia and the Grounders. They will want to make conversation as we lay in our bunks and bond.

I’m not good at small-talk, not with Clarke, not even with Raven. Jackson and I can prattle to one another, but we do that so many times throughout the day that we have nothing to discuss when we clock out.

Which is why I’m using my position as the only doctor in the bunker as an excuse to sleep in the infirmary.

The only real difference between the patients’ beds and the ones in the dormitories is that I can double up on pillows and blankets without getting in trouble.

I turn off the lights and sink into the bed closest to the door, so that if anyone comes in, I can use the excuse that I was merely resting my eyes.

Even though I’ve taken off my boots, jacket and pants.

They’re within arm’s reach, so when the door does open, the night lights from the hallway spilling through, I’m automatically mumbling my excuse before my interloper speaks.

  
“Mom?”

  
Clarke stumbles into the infirmary, wiping at her eyes, her voice thick and she’s sniffling.

  
“Sweetie?” I ask, blinking to try and focus my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

  
She shuffles over to the bed and before I can react, she’s laying down atop of the sheets, wrapping an arm over my stomach and pressing her head to my breast.

My maternal instinct as me cradling her head and trying to shield her from the world as her heart broken sobs wrack through her body.

She’s crying as if she will never be happy again.

* * *

 

Exhaustion eventually lulls her to sleep, and I continue holding her as the night bleeds into the morning.

I spend the hours creating and discarding theories as to what could have upset her like this.

Since Jake’s death, Clarke had needed comfort from me three times, when we had first been reunited on the ground and I had told her that Finn and Bellamy were alive, following Finn’s death and in that dungeon when she had been mourning Lexa.

So, it stood to reason that this was a similar situation.

Bellamy was alive, I knew that, and certainly unharmed, otherwise he would have come through my infirmary, the same for Roan or Niylah.

Perhaps they’d had some sort of lovers’ quarrel?

No.

Everyone who saw Bellamy and my daughter together saw the strength of the connection between them, and I had never seen two people less concerned with jealousy or other partners.

Even when they were romantically involved with other people, they still prioritized each other in a way that betrayed their feelings to those around them.

Raven had told me that Gina- that poor young woman- had confided in her that in Bellamy’s heart, she took second place not only to Octavia, which she could gladly accept, but to Clarke as well.

And no matter what Lexa had meant to my daughter, I know that if she had ever threatened Bellamy, Clarke would have stopped her by any means necessary.

So, perhaps it wasn’t that at all, maybe she was finally just processing everything that had happened since ALIE, maybe everything had caught up with her and she’d simply been overwhelmed.

I wait until a faint bell chimes through the hallways, some sort of signal that the regulated morning hours had arrived before I try waking her.

She inhales deeply through her nose before opening her eyes, which are bloodshot in her puffy face, she wipes them as she rolls onto her back, jolting as part of her body hits empty air and I grip her tightly, shifting so that there’s room for us both.

  
“How are you feeling?” I ask, and she chuckles, tucking her hair behind her ear,

“Can’t be worse than I look.” she mumbles, getting to her feet and padding over to the glass cabinet, using the faint reflection in the glass to try and take stock of herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer and she grabs a tissue, wiping her face, glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes. 

“Do I have a choice?” she queries and I hum,

“My daughter comes to me crying, I would like to know why.”

  
She sighs as she runs her fingers through her hair, combing it and I feel a stab of annoyance that I don’t have her full attention, that once she’s prepared for the day, she’ll finish our conversation and leave.

  
“Octavia is going to marry Roan.” she reveals, “A strategic alliance to remove him as a contender for the position of Commander,”

  
Goodness.

Octavia Blake was a child, even younger than Clarke, albeit by a few months and had spent so much of her life hidden away, only knowing her mother and…

Ah.

  
“Bellamy didn’t take this news well?” I guess and she shakes her head,

“He pointed a gun at Roan, would have killed him in front of Kane, Indra, Octavia, half the Azgedan army, Trikru and Skai-kru warriors.”

  
And started a war amongst what was left of the human race.

  
“He…” Clarke chokes, her hands paused in the middle of braiding her hair,

“He blames me, because I knew and…I didn’t try to stop it.”

“Did you want to?”

She sighs, “No, I…I wish Octavia didn’t have to marry someone she didn’t love but…it’s the best way to avoid war right now. Still…he blames me because I’m the reason Roan is alive.”

  
It sounded like Bellamy was upset and lashing out, unfortunately, my daughter happened to be the closest target.

  
“From what I’ve seen of siblings,” I muse, “They’re protective of each other and irrational when it comes to each other’s safety. I’m sure once he’s cooled down…”

Clarke only shakes her head, “Not this time…you didn’t see the way he looked at me, I can handle the rest of the world thinking I’m a monster, but not him.”

  
Her braid is done and so is this conversation, she ties off the ends and checks the clock on the wall.

  
“My breakfast shift is soon.” she states, and I’m not sure whether that’s the truth or an exit strategy.

  
Experience tells me that if I try to keep her here, try to make her confront her feelings or process her emotions that she’ll shut me down while putting up walls until I’m back to dancing around my own daughter.

So, I have to let her go.

* * *

 

I assume that Octavia would try to keep her upcoming nuptials secret, which, naturally meant that within the week, it would be common knowledge amongst the bunker.

I know that the secret is out when Jasper comes to me with bruises on his cheek which betray the fact that whomever punched him knew not to aim for the nose or jaw.

  
“I see Bellamy’s temper is still a problem.” I mutter as I use a cold compress to get the swelling down.

Jasper scoffs, “I can’t believe this, Octavia being forced to marry for survival? It’s like the freaking Ark all over again.”

I give him a sharp look, “I wouldn’t say that around either Blake,” I warn him, “There’s only so much of you I can put back together.”

  
Exploitation had been rampant on the Ark, I had seen it in the weddings of barely eighteen-year-old girls from Factory or Mecca Station to men twice or three times their age from Alpha Station. Men who had been able to provide extra rations to these girl’s families.

Marcus had tried implementing laws and regulations against this, but they had always been voted down in the Council.

At least this was one thing I had been able to protect my daughter from.

  
“This isn’t fair,” he protests, “And I know that there isn’t any fairness on this planet, there never has been, but…we’ve given our blood, our lives, whatever good thing we managed to find, we gave it all. Haven’t we done enough, doc?”

  
Tenderly, I place an arm around his shoulders and kiss his uninjured cheek,

  
“I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but I know King Roan, and he is an honourable man, Octavia could do worse.”

  
A blush high on his cheeks has me realizing just why Jasper is so upset.

Poor boy.

* * *

 

Marcus and my relationship has been strained since I woke up in the bunker, alive despite my wishes. Neither of us have spoken of it and I’ve been distracting myself with my daughter’s well-being and keeping Roan alive.

Every day, he schedules time to come sit with me, talk over the gossip or the events of the day.

He tells me that it will be a grounder wedding, as Skai-kru had rarely carried out marriage ceremonies, favouring bureaucracy instead of celebration in the hopes of discouraging unions that could lead to population increase.

Indra is organizing the event, which Gaia will officiate, and arguing with Azgeda, who is insisting that as Octavia will be crowned queen that they should be arranging everything.

Marcus reveals that after an hour of bickering in the council chamber, he had taken Octavia aside and quietly asked if perhaps he shouldn’t officiate, as Chancellor of Skai-kru and recalling a marriage prayer he had heard his mother recite for her followers.

She had declined, pointing out that the grounders wouldn’t recognize or accept the union unless it was done according to their traditions. And that he wasn’t chancellor anymore, because there was no more Skai-kru.

  
“Soon, there will be no more Trikru or Azgeda,” he muses to me, “Only Ogeda.”

“Well, then Azgeda might as well not crown Octavia at all.” I quip, looking over my inventory charts, but still catching him turn his face away of the corner of my eye.

  
Ah.

I wonder how Roan would react to the knowledge that Octavia was already being prepped for a future as a widow.  

* * *

 

I only see Octavia in passing, and only see her brother at the cremation of Echo’s body, during which he manages to restrain himself from physically attacking anybody but still exchanges words with Roan afterwards.

I find myself wondering if he’ll have to be placed back in the turbine room for the wedding.

Two days before the event, a member of Roan’s guard stomps into my infirmary.

  
“Is he hurt?” I ask, almost automatically, immediately reaching for my first aid kit but the woman shakes her head.

“He sent me to ask you for…” the woman pauses, tilting her head side to side slightly as she translates the words in her mind.

“The name of the woman who birthed the Heda.” She finishes and I blink.

“Aurora Blake.” I answer, considering writing it down for her but very few of the grounders could read.

  
I follow her back to Azgeda’s quarters, where the walls have been liberally coated with the white lime they used to paint their faces.

Roan is in a sleeping quarters where the bunk beds have been torn apart and refashioned as single cots, uneven and with jagged metal pieces that have me worrying about lockjaw.

Two of these beds have been pushed together and covered with furs.

  
“Fit for a king,” I murmur before joining said king where he loitered in a corner.

“I was told you needed the name of Octavia’s mother?”

He hums and nods in confirmation, “In Azgeda, we have a chair placed aside for those we have lost, so that their spirit might watch the ceremony. A mother needs to be at the wedding, and, I would rather it not be mine.”

I repeat the name and then, when the one in charge of carving it into the chair hands me the lime, I dip my finger in and write the name on the bottom of the seat for him.

  
“It’s a nice tradition,” I offer but he only shrugs, “If my people cling to tradition as a means of comfort, it means others will too, this could be problematic for Octavia’s Wonkru.”

“Give them time,” I suggest, “We haven’t even been down here for a month yet.”

He hums again, “Four years and eleven months to go.”

  
Would we even survive? 


	18. Octavia kom Ogeda

_Octavia kom Ogeda_

 

When the morning bell sounds, it doesn’t wake me.

I never went to sleep.

Instead, I spent the night sitting in my office, sharpening my sword, cleaning my knives, searching for any excuse to not close my eyes.

I had been afraid.

Not of outside threats, they were all either locked up or afraid of me.

I’d been afraid of my own mind.

My own guilt.

That, in my dreams, I would see Lincoln.

The man I should have spent the rest of my life with.

I didn’t know whether I would see him forgiving me, telling me it was okay or hating me, I just knew that if I saw his face, I wouldn’t be able to go through with his.

The morning bell grates on my nerves.

I can’t believe I used to hate waking up to the sound of bird call.

Living on the Ark had taught all of us regulated sleeping hours, but the grounders had had a lot more freedom, unless they were on work shifts, they could sleep or not sleep whenever they’d wanted.

As a warrior, Lincoln had been trained to be a light sleeper, so whenever we’d camped outside, he’d woken up with the dawn, something he had always hated.

This was why he had made his home in a dark cave and liked our windowless room in Arkadia.

Even then, he had woken up before me, which meant I had woken up to him running his hand through my hair, adjusting the blankets around me to keep me warm, cuddling me, or a few times, his lips on my skin.

If I was a poet, I’d say I’d woken up to love.

But I’m a warrior, and the man I loved is dead.

And today is my wedding day.

* * *

 

I’d never imagined my wedding day.

On the Ark, the only man I’d ever known had been my brother and in the Skybox, I was too busy trying not to be scared of all these new people to consider marrying any of them.

Also, I’d been a kid.

When we’d landed and I’d found myself surrounded by all these new boys and no guards to keep us separated, I’d set my eyes on Finn and imagined what it would be like to have a boyfriend.

I’m not sure what Atom and I had had counted, our relationship hadn’t even lasted twelve hours.

I suppose Lincoln had been everything but my first kiss.

And with him…

Our relationship had been forbidden by Trikru and for the longest time, the only thing Indra wanted to see me uniting with was a fatal stab wound.

When I’d become her second, there had been a handful of minutes where we’d been making our way through the tunnels of Mt Weather, when Indra had told me I was now Trigedakru, that I’d allowed myself to imagine a future in Ton DC with Lincoln by my side.

I’d woken from that dream with the sounding of the retreat horn.

We could have been married under Ark law, but I hadn’t wanted to be beholden to Skai-kru for anything, I’d even stopped using my family name because grounders didn’t differentiate by last names but by clans.

And now…

Now the love of my life was dead and I was marrying Azgeda.

* * *

 

Even though every aspect of this marriage had been argued over by Kane, Indra, Gaia and Roan’s ambassador, nobody had actually bothered to tell me what a grounder wedding entailed.

I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing today.

So, like the scared girl I’d once been, I hung around in my office, pacing and swinging my arms as I tried to decide whether

It was embarrassing when I got something wrong, when I stood with the grounders but revealed just how little I knew about their culture, no matter how hard I worked to become one of them.

But I figured someone would come looking for me eventually.

My first assumption was that it would be my brother looking for a last-minute reprieve for me.

I wasn’t supposed to know this, but Kane had had Miller keeping an eye on him for the last week, making sure that the gun he was issued when patrolling was returned back to the armoury and every last bullet was accounted for.

I didn’t think Bellamy would be stupid enough to fire a gun at my wedding, but I was his little sister, being handed over to the clan whose people had betrayed us, declared war on us and tried to kill me.

My second assumption was that Kane or Indra would come through the door, looking for their heda, ready to stand beside me while we got through this ceremony.

So, when the hesitant knock sounded, I had three candidates in my head.

And none of them were correct.

  
“Min op.” (Enter) I call, leaning back against the desk and raising my eyebrows when they stick their head in,

  
Abby Griffin looks about the office and slips in, closing the door behind her.

  
“How are you?” she asks and I blink,

“Uh fine?”

  
She hums and steps forward and I straighten up, almost automatically dropping my jaw so she can put a tongue depressor in my mouth and make me say ‘Ah’

Were we supposed to have medical examinations before weddings?

  
“Can I help you?” I ask and she holds her hands clasped in front of her,

“I was going to ask the same thing,” she admits with a small smile,

“If you wanted some help getting ready today?”

I frown, “Indra and her people have prepared me.” I tell her and she tilts her head slightly,

“I’m sure they will,” she allows,

“But before then, I thought you might want a friendly face to help you with your hair…”

  
I’d thought my hair was fine, it was in a ponytail as I’d taken to wearing it for a while now and hadn’t planned on changing up the style unless it had to be done for the ceremony.

  
“Is this an Ark thing?” I query, starting to feel confused as hell and she shrugs,

“Not really, sometimes women helped other women prepare for their wedding, but I thought you might want an hour or two with someone who is here as a friend to talk or just listen if you need.”

  
My confusion fades away slowly as I figure out what Abby is offering.

A surrogate mother.

On my wedding day, she was offering to step into the role my own mom would have filled if our lives had been very, very different.

My first instinct is to refuse her, it was people like her who floated my mother, and I sure as hell didn’t make it this far by needing my hand held or being condescended to by anyone from Alpha station.

Except…

She is offering me what no-one else will today.

A chance to be a young woman for a short time, not the heda, not the Skai-ripa, just Octavia.

After today, I won’t have that again.

* * *

 

I was given the bedroom of the cult leader, my own room and bathroom, and little luxuries that his own people had never seen.

Including a bookshelf that I had barely glanced at before Bell had started ransacking it.

The double bed had been laid with furs and pillows stripped from the Heda’s chamber in the tower, a couch shoved into the room that barely fit and I’d taken to throwing things at it when I was annoyed.

Abby takes it all in with a small hum and we move to my bathroom, where I shower quickly while she appreciates the glass mirror over my sink.

  
“I’m very old,” she notes drily as I wrap a towel around my body, “All these wrinkles…”

I snort, “At least you’re alive.” I point out and she sighs,

“Only until my hair turns white, which it should have done a lot earlier, considering everything you children put me through.”

  
She sits me on the couch, facing the wall as she stands behind me and begins brushing my hair, a soothing motion, stopping to occasionally drip some water through my strands.

I wasn’t sure when the ceremony was, but I’d guessed I didn’t have time to actually wash my hair, not when it could take hours to naturally dry.

There’s a knock at the door and I think that we’re out of time but when it slides open, Raven limps into the room, stopping to look about,

  
“Nice,” she comments, dropping onto the bed, “Man, I miss Becca’s house, big beds are amazing!”

Abby scoffs, “How would you know?” she asks, “You only ever left the lab long enough to eat and shower.”

Raven raises her head, “There was a bed in the lab!”

“Which you suggested we incinerate after Murphy and Emori slept there.” Abby countered, still brushing my hair in long, soothing strokes.

 

The door opens again and Harper sticks her head in, blushing slightly when she sees that I’m only wearing a towel,

 

“Monty wanted me to give you this,” she explains, holding up a small vial, “It’s perfume.”

  
I uncap the vial and sniff, inhaling a floral scent I hadn’t encountered since…

It smelled like the flowers Lincoln used to leave for me.

Not that Monty could have known, but a vivid memory of night time in the forest, using the light of the moon and the flowers to find my way to Lincoln’s cave…

  
“Thanks,” I manage, clearing my throat, putting the vial down and swearing to never use it. I hesitate when I see that she isn’t going anywhere, “You wanna hang around?”

  
Harper shrugs and settled on the bed beside Raven,

  
“Monty’s also got the moonshine ready,” she volunteers after a few moments of silence, “But he says that after this, we’re gonna have to wait until he can get the farm station up and running before we have anymore.”

  
That was probably in a report somewhere that I either hadn’t read yet or understood properly.

But before I can reveal this, Abby asks Harper how she was adjusting to the bunker and they start talking about ordinary, everyday things.

We were socialising.

I can barely remember the last time we did this.

I’m pretty sure it was after Mt Weather, with Gina, she’d worked with Monty to build a bar and often had Bellamy and I meet her there to drink, eat and make conversation.

It had been her attempt to re-establish normalcy in our lives.

What she hadn’t realised was that Bell and I socialising in a public space was as far from normal as we had ever known on the Ark.

It had taken awhile before I could stand having my backs to the guards, part of me spending every moment anticipating being thrown into a cell for the crime of being born.

But this here, is nice.

Abby runs her fingers through my hair and I shiver at the sensation,

  
“Is there any particular style you have to wear today?” she asks curiously, “Because if there is, we’ll have to get Jackson in, I can manage simple braids, ponytails and after that, I need backup.”

I snort, “Explains why Clarke always has her hair down.”

  
There’s only a moment of tension but I pick up on it and chase it, my eyes glancing to the other women in the room who haven’t noticed yet but are here, with me, when they hadn’t ever come looking for me before.

“Clarke’s with Roan, isn’t she?” I guess, twisting to face Abby, “She sent you to me and went to him.”

  
There’s a look Clarke gets in her eyes, a split second when she contemplates whether to tell the truth or lie; I think she got it from Abby.

I push myself up and stomp over to the drawers, pulling out the clothes Indra had brought me and starting to dress,

  
“Is she doing his hair too?” I snap, sarcastically and Abby leans against the wall, crossing her arms,

“I hope so,” she replies, matching my tone, “He still has limited movement in his arms.”

  
She stares me down, daring me to say something, to point out the relationship between her daughter and my future husband.

  
“Clarke has terrible taste.” I mutter as I glance down to button my pants.

“On that, we’re agreed.” Abby counters, “Especially recently.”

  
My hackles rise as I guess who she’s talking about but she’s already walking out of the room and anything I shout after her will just look petty. 

  
“So…” Raven drawls as I turn my attention to her and Harper on the bed,

“Clarke has terrible taste in lovers?”

I swallow, “I didn’t mean Finn.”

She rolls her eyes, “You didn’t not, either.”

  
Do I really have to defend my stance on the boy who cheated on Raven not even ten days after reaching the ground and slaughtered innocents in Ton DC?

Harper leans back on her hands, clearing her throat before we can get into it,

  
“Are Clarke and the ice king a thing?” she asks, eagerly, “Like an actual thing?”

  
I’m not sure.

I’d thought Clarke and Niylah were a thing, but I hadn’t seen those two together in a long time. Indra told me that Niylah was trying to earn her way back into Trikru, keeping her distance from Skai-kru which she should have done long before now.

Even though there shouldn’t be any clans but Wonkru.

I’d thought Clarke and my brother would become a thing, but even I had heard that they were avoiding each other ever since word got out about my betrothal.

Maybe Clarke had gone to Roan as a Bellamy substitute? 

  
“Not after today,” I tell Harper, “The whole point of this marriage is that Roan and I will be united, which means working together.”

And choosing each other over everyone else.

* * *

 

Indra waits for me outside the council chambers, glaring at anyone who steps into her line of sight, not even pretending that she’s anything but pissed.

She looks me over as I approach, making sure that I look the part and her nod is so reluctant I almost glance down to make sure that I’m wearing the right outfit.

  
“Everything okay?” I ask quietly, and she scoffs, reaching down to her weapons belt only to find the sword absent.

  
Weapons were forbidden during ceremonies.

Especially weddings, which was probably a good thing.

  
“I know that I am the one who asked this of you,” she mutters, forcing her chin up to meet my eyes, “Still, I wish with all my heart that it was Lincoln you were marrying today.”

  
Warriors don’t cry, they aren’t weak.

So, I offer my hand and she clasps it tight, pulling me into a hug that is over almost as soon as it began.

  
“You are my people.” I tell her quickly, moving away to stride into the council chamber, which had been decorated as best as it could be considering the limited materials we had down here.

Azgeda is ready and waiting, having insisted that every last member of their clan be present for the crowning of a new queen.

I head to the front of the room and step onto the dais, looking past the sea of faces to search for Roan.

He’s at the back of the crowd, watching the door as people continue filtering in and turning back to the corner.

I can only just see Clarke’s blonde hair, the rest of her shielded by his back.

His head is bent towards her and the two of them are clearly talking, she keeps nodding, her head rising and falling as Roan continues ignoring me.

I clench my jaw and try to pretend nothing is wrong when she embraces him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and driving him back a step as he counters her weight.

Of course, the Ark princess would make my wedding day all about her.

I inhale sharply and face Gaia who has climbed onto the dais beside me,

  
“Shall we begin?” she asks with a pointed glance to the end of the room but I shake my head,

“My brother hasn’t arrived yet.”

“He’ll be here soon,” a voice informs me and I see Jasper pushing his way through the crowd,

“There was some stuff up with guard shifts,” he lies smoothly and I try to hide my surprise that he turned up at all.

  
Since Bellamy had ordered anyone with access to a still or any form of alcohol or drugs to cut Jasper off, he’d been in and out of the infirmary in withdrawal.

Kane had mentioned that he was trying to help him with his recovery, except that when Kane had given up alcohol, he’d had his job to distract him.

Jasper had nothing and from what I could see, people hadn’t really established any activities that didn’t involve drinking yet.

  
“I…uh…here.” He pushes something toward me and I take it cautiously, turning it over in my palm.

  
Some sort of plant, pressed and sealed into glass with an old frayed ribbon tied through a hole in the top. 

  
“For luck,” he blurts, “And to…remind you what you’re fighting for.”

I tuck it into my sleeve, “Thank-you.”

  
He ducks his head and I see his hands trembling, either with emotion or withdrawal,

  
“I’m sorry,” he sniffs, “Maybe if I’d been sober, and helped Clarke with coming up with solutions, or done something…”

“What’s done is done,” I interrupt, because we aren’t shouting but people can still hear us and nobody needs to hear just how little my people want me to marry Roan.

“Only thing to do now is move forward.”

He grimaces, “That’s what everyone always says.”

  
And it got old, fast.

Just move forward, just keep going, carry on.

At what point were we allowed to say enough?

No more.

We’re done.

He stumbles down from the dais to find his place in the crowd and Roan finally starts making his way forward as Bellamy enters the chamber.

My brother’s eyes narrow as he takes in the room but he says nothing as he moves to stand beside Kane, flashing me a quick smile that was supposed to comfort the both of us.

Guessing he didn’t come through with that last-minute solution then.

And as Roan stands beside me and as Gaia begins the ceremony, I realise that I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.

  


	19. Octavia kom Ogeda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azplana (Ice Queen)

_Octavia kom Ogeda/Azplana_

 

I get my own crown.

A big, weighty thing that I take off at the first opportunity, holding it in my hands and turning it over as I study it.  
  


“Is this bone?” I ask my new houmon (husband), glancing up at his own headwear, trying to note the differences,

  
“Seal or human,” he answers, “Depends on who you ask.”

  
Great.

I look for a flat surface to put it down on only for an Azgedan to appear silently at my side and take it from me.

  
“Tamen,” Roan supplies as I watch the man leave, “He looks after our weapons and any royal belongings.”

  
_Our?_

  
I’m not sure whether he meant Azgedan or his and mine, and that irritates me slightly.

  
What do I actually know about this man I just married?

  
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with him.

  
The ceremonies are over and there isn’t going to be any celebration, my own apathy about my new marriage aside, we couldn’t spare the food for any extra meals and Monty had only enough moonshine left for one round of drinks this evening.   
  


Besides, I assume we all had things to do. 

  
Clarke had made herself scarce pretty much the moment the crown was on my head, before my brother had even had a chance to notice that she was in the same space as him for the first time in weeks now.

  
Bellamy was standing with Kane and Indra, giving them both an unimpressed look that has me wandering over out of curiosity.

  
“Why are you all still here?” I demand by way of greeting and Kane glances between me and my brother.

  
“We’re having a…disagreement about the training regimen for the new grounder guards…and the recruitment process.” He explains slowly.

  
“They want to have us train groups sorted by clans,” Bellamy interjects, “Train trikru first, trishanakru after that…”

  
“Because our clans have never trained or fought together,” Indra explains, giving him a cold glare, “We all have different ways of fighting in battle, my warriors know how to move silently and use surprise attacks, Trishanakru use bow and arrows, Sangedakru lure their enemies into hostile terrain, Azgeda cut off supply lines and trap their enemies to starve…”

  
“They all have different specialities and skill sets,” Kane interrupts, “So it makes sense to train them according to their strengths and figure out by group, what they need to work on.”

  
“Except we’re supposed to be _merging_ all the clans,” Bellamy argues, “Not keeping them separate, otherwise, what was the point of that damn wedding?”

  
The room is almost empty, so there is no way that Roan didn’t hear that comment, but when I glance over my shoulder, he is still talking with his people. His eyes meet mine briefly before turning back to the man speaking.

  
“Guard training can’t be that hard,” I comment, “Any idiot who liked corruption or rape got a uniform on the Ark.”

  
Kane has the nerve to flinch at that and opens his mouth as if he wants to argue the point, but I only raise an eyebrow, silently daring him to contradict Bellamy and my firsthand experience with the kind of men who’d been guards under his command.

  
“We’ll need to teach them how to use a shock stick safely,” Bellamy notes,

  
“How to de-escalate situations, arrest procedures, gun safety…”

  
“Why are we under Skai-kru law now?” Roan asks, standing at my shoulder and I look up at him,

  
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I query, and he turns his attention to me.

  
“The laws of our people made you the Commander, the laws of Skai-kru made you a criminal. Why should your Ogeda keep these laws?”

  
“Is there an alternative?” Bellamy challenges, but I can hear the hint of a genuine question buried deep in his tone.

  
Roan shrugs, “Octavia merged the clans into one, our laws should be merged as well, our traditions, our ways, people need to feel as if they are one group, not separate, otherwise, what was the point of that damn wedding?”

  
I find myself smirking as he quotes my brother’s words back to me and bite my tongue quickly to school my features.

  
“He is…not wrong,” Indra decides, looking as if she’d have rather swallowed poison than admit that. 

  
“People will not be eager to wear adopt Skai-kru ways and it is already hard being surround by so much tek (tech) in this bunker.”

  
“We could potentially come up with some solutions this afternoon,” Kane allows, speaking slowly as he gauges our reactions,

  
“But we can’t discard our laws without offering new ones, and a grace period for people to learn them, of course, some of the most basic ones won’t need to be changed, but perhaps the method of trials, the procedures…”

  
And he’s gone. Still standing in front of us but deep inside his own mind, working through ideas, scrolling his memory banks like a computer when Monty or Raven make it search for information.

  
The expression on his face as he does this reminds me too much of the man he was on the Ark, the man who stared at me with a hint of distaste as I was found guilty of being born and sentenced in the Skybox until I was eighteen. At the time, my mere existence had annoyed him. Crashing into Earth in the remnants of Alpha Station and everything that had happened after had almost been good for him.

  
It had given him a soul.

  
“Right, well, I guess we know what this afternoon’s Council meeting is going to be about,” I comment wrily, “See you then.”

  
I spin on my heel and nearly collide with my new husband, “Seriously,” I snap as he grabs my arms to steady me, “Why the hell are you still here?”

  
His eyebrows rise slightly, and I look him dead in the eyes,

  
“I know we don’t have to consummate the hukop,” I state, “Not when the alliance is for political reasons.”

  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother’s shoulders sag in relief and blush slightly when I realise that nobody had bothered explaining this to him.

  
Well, he knows now.

  
“We don’t have to consummate the marriage, but we are expected to live together,” Roan explains, “I was going to ask when you would move into my quarters?”

  
“Never,” I answer, “I like my room, you want to live together, you can move into mine.”

  
On the couch.

  
He frowns slightly, and he’s either confused or annoyed but I don’t care either way.

  
“If that is your order,” he mutters, “I will see you tonight.”

  
I shrug, trying to show how little I care. “See you then.”

  
When he leaves, he takes most of the people occupying the room with him and I study those who are left.

  
No-one looks like they need me to solve any problems right that very second, so I decide to head to my office.

  
I make it twelve steps before turning around to confront the three-people following me.  

  
One at least has the excuse of being my brother,

  
“ _Chit?!_ ” (What?!) I demand of the two Azgeda warriors, “Can I help you?”

  
They share a look I had used to see in Indra’s eyes, when I was new to Grounder culture and accidentally screwed up or didn’t know something she had previously thought was basic knowledge.

  
“We are your guards,” one of them explains, “It is our duty to protect you.”

  
I snort, “Right, like I’m gonna trust the only two heavily armed people in the empty hallway.”

  
“No.” I hold up my hand when they start to speak, “Not interested, go back to your haihefa (king).”

  
They share another glance, “We are not the haihefas guard,” they try again, slowly as if the issue was with my language skills, “We are the haiplanas (queen's) guard.”

  
“I don’t care,” I reply, just as slowly, “Go away.”

  
I look past them to where my brother is standing, “You can stay.”

  
A quick smirk flashes across his face and he moves around them, falling in step beside me as we leave the warriors standing there looking lost.

  
“Why are you following me?” I ask him as we cross the entry chamber,

  
“I’m the queen’s guard.” he answers smugly, and I manage my own smirk, “Ass.”

  
I stride right into my office and he closed the door behind us,

  
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he murmured, “And to be around in case you needed someone.”

  
In case I needed someone?

  
“It’s done,” I snort, “No point freaking out about it now.”

  
I pace the length of the office and tilt my head back, exhaling noisily, “Distract me.”

  
“I’m going to start training the new recruits as soon as possible,” he reports,

  
“I might need a crash course in grounder speak.”

  
I roll my eyes, “All their warriors speak gonasleng.”

  
“Yeah, but I need to know when they’re discussing killing me in trigedasleng.”

  
I finally sit down and try and consider my brother from the perspective of a grounder.

  
As far as I knew, none of them knew his role in the massacre and aside from being Wanheda’s Trikova (shadow) there wasn’t an overall opinion of him either way.

  
He could convince people to be loyal to him, to follow him, he'd done it before and if he trained the new recruits from across the clans, taught them to think as Wonkru, we would have a decent shot of surviving the next five years.

  
Maybe even our first day back on the ground.

  
“I want you to train Jasper as well.” I state, decisively, leaning back in my chair and waiting for his outburst.

  
Two seconds for him to process what I just said.

  
“O, I haven’t trusted Jasper with a gun since _before_ Pyke, I’m sure as hell not going to let him have one now!”

  
“We don’t have enough guns for the recruits to be carrying them anyway,” I argue, “And he needs something to do.”

  
“So, find him something that doesn’t teach him how to fight or requires sobriety.”

  
“Like _what_?” I ask, baffled, “He can’t cook, and the kitchen staff is full. The agro team is going to be picking from the best farmers down here, I could stick him in laundry, but he can’t sew to save his life and I don’t trust him around the chemicals.”

  
My brother rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms as he tries to figure out

  
“We can’t put him in medical,” I muse aloud, “He has no training and we can’t trust him not to attack Clarke.”

  
I try to gauge his reaction and I see his jaw click but nothing else. That tells me little, unless I planned on slashing Clarke’s heels in front of him, I doubt I would be able to find out if he still cared for her.

  
Of course, I could ask him, but Lincoln and I had lived together for three months before Bellamy asked me how I felt about having a boyfriend.

  
Besides, we had more important things to worry about.

  
“Train him with the guards,” I order, “If he washes out, we’ll figure something else out.”

  
He huffs but heads to the door, “Fine…I’ll…see you at drinks tonight, I guess.”

  
Right.

  
The last of Monty’s moonshine would be drunk tonight after the council meeting. A toast for my marriage.

  
I wondered what I was supposed to do with my husband after that.

  
Would he be at the council meeting? Was he supposed to stand beside me in reality and not just as a symbol?

  
I wanted to ask him but the thought made my skin itch, besides, he was probably off somewhere talking to Clarke again.


	20. Roan kom Azgeda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.   
> So, apparently season 5's theme is character assassination. Even if I'd wanted to go dark and edgy I couldn't have written Octavia as mentally unstable as the writers are doing this season.

_Roan kom Wonkru, Haihefa kom Azgeda_

 

This bunker reminds me of Sandkru territory.

Everything looks the same.

An endless span of metal and harsh lighting.

My shillkru (guard) at least knows where we are going.

He leads me to Octavia’s chamber, tensing when we encounter the trikru warrior at the door.

The man has his hand on his sword, murder in his eyes and bared teeth.

How would trikru warriors fight on even ground? No trees to hide behind, or climb up, no element of surprise?

  
“I was told to let you into the room.” He snarls at me, making it clear that he would rather see me dead.

  
But no trikru warrior would disobey Octavia, even if they disagreed with a red-blooded commander, she was Indra’s second and clear favourite.

He turns to the keypad beside the door, pressing them in rapid succession and the light goes red once, which I knew from Becca Praim Heda’s island meant that he’d made a mistake.

He presses the buttons again, slower this time and the light goes green, the door sliding open and my guard walks in and almost immediately, walks out again.

  
“No,” he says, “You cannot stay there.”

  
Curious, I push past him to see what the problem was.

I had thought perhaps Skai-kru eccentricities had rendered the room inhabitable, perhaps various machines or guns in a corner, but that wasn’t the issue.

The bedchamber was tiny.

Half the size of my chamber in the tower.

There was hardly room to move.

  
“I’ll pack light,” I comment, drily, backing out again to speak with my guard, “Bring my things.”

“Haihefa,” he responds, “There is no room for a shillkru (guard).”

“So, I’ll have privacy,” I jest, “How long has it been since an Azgedan royal had that?”

  
Months. I can almost see the forests I’d stalked through, tracking Wanheda on Lexa’s orders, the first time in so many years that I’d been free of the Commander’s guards.

  
“You should sleep with your kru,” He argues,

“I should sleep with my houmon,” I counter, “If my guards wish, they can sleep in the hall.”

  
I assume we are done and I try to step back into the room when he reaches out to grab my arm.

 _Without_ my permission.

  
“If you die…” he hisses, “It is only right that we should die protecting you.”

  
I never know what to say when I encounter people who are loyal to me above their own self-interests. My own mother would have seen me dead if it had suited her.

  
“I trust my houmon,” I declare, raising my voice so that the guard hears me as well, “Heda kom Wonkru, Osleya is a woman of honour.”

  
Even without religion, even without tradition, the Skai-people displayed a kind of honour, a desire for peace that tasted of desperation and exhaustion, a peace that they called for even as they slaughtered their enemies.

Now, I was their ally.

For as long as I could be useful.

  
“Bring my things.”

All the determination in the world wasn’t going to get my possessions into that tiny room, I settle for the bare minimum, little more than I would carry with me if I was leading my army to war.

I could walk back to my people’s rooms if I needed anything.

Perhaps the walk would be good for my healing body.

* * *

 

Walking anywhere takes too much time for me now.

It annoys me how slowly I have to move for my broken body.

Abby told me to be patient, to rest and give myself time to recover.

I have spent enough time ruling my people from my bed.

I needed to be among them, among everyone to remind them that Azgeda was strong, that we had to be counted in this new Wonkru.

I am headed to the Council chambers, gritting my teeth against the pain in my sides when I see Clarke hurrying towards me.

Which tells me that Bellamy must be somewhere else.

Since the alliance became known, Clarke had taken to avoiding him, darting from rooms whenever he entered, taking longer routes to avoid his patrols, eating her meals in the med bay.

Her skin is pale, and her eyes are haunted by the separation enforced by her fear.

Or perhaps it is that she no longer sleeps, instead working feverishly as few others in the bunker do to avoid war.

  
“I have an idea,” she tells me, by way of greeting and I grunt in response. Even if I had ignored her, she would have kept talking.

“But I’ll need to talk to whoever is your second now.” She continues, and I grimace,

“I haven’t chosen one yet,” I admit, “After Echo…there are some contenders, none that impress me enough for the honour.”

“And no,” I answer firmly before the idea has fully formed in her mind, “I will not take a Skai-person as my second, I am not Indra.”

“We have some good fighters,” she tries arguing, and I would roll my eyes if I didn’t already feel the impending headache on my brow.

“Your best warrior is Bellamy,” I point out, “I want someone who is loyal to me, not you.”

  
She bites the inside of her bottom lip, trying to hide the pain, “He’s loyal to Octavia.” she offers, conceding.

  
Perhaps, but was it possible for Bellamy to stop loving Clarke? Even if he didn’t want to love her, could he decide one day that he didn’t any longer?

I have never been in love, though people sing songs and tell stories about how it feels like drowning or burning or whatever life-ending tragedy is common to their kru, and they talk about how it can’t be helped, can’t be stopped.

So, either Bellamy has superhuman strength, or the bad luck of loving the woman he blames for ruining his sister. 

* * *

 

If nothing else, I attend these Council meetings to see the sea of disappointment in the eyes of my enemies.

Another day and still I live.

Better yet, I am married to the Osleya (Champion). Though I don’t know yet what protection that will afford me, if any, it will still irritate those who wished me dead.

In the tower in Polis, the council room had been filled with chairs for each clan, decorated as they wished and the commander on their throne, above them all.

In the very centre of the rotunda stands a table with the scent of newly forged metal. Seats still being carried over by Skai-kru guards and I see no throne. I walk around the table, counting the paces in my head and nearly trip over a pair of legs.

Glancing down, I see that they are attached to a body, one that yet lives and hear a muffled curse.

 

“You’re in my light,” the tek-spika (tech speaker) chastises and I move aside for her.

 

She manages to thank me when I reach down, offering her my hand to pull her to her feet.

I had thought she was a freik-drein at first, like all the other tek-spikas, but her injuries came from the one they called Murphy. Who had been hanged by Bellamy for a crime he was guiltless of and then hanged him in turn. At some point amidst all this rope, he had found time to shoot the woman before me.

The woman whom he had cooked and cared for on Becca Praim Hedas island.

Where us grounders killed our enemies, Skai-kru befriended them, loved them and…now married them.

 

She pats the table, “Just finished building it,” she tells me proudly, “As long as no-one walks over it, or fights on it, it’ll hold.”

“Just like Wonkru.” I mutter, and she snorts before limping away.

 

I resume walking around the table, measuring the space, looking up and around before one of my men appears at my side, my own bandrona (ambassador) whose place I will take for this meeting.

 

“Has someone brought a chair for my houmon?” I ask quietly, and he nods, jerking his chin to the seat with it’s back to the chamber above us, Octavia’s ‘office’.

 

What few hedas that didn’t die in the conclave have taken the place of their ambassadors and are itching towards the table, trying to find the most privileged place, the best position.

Octavia enters the room, announced by Indra and has barely set her feet on the path for her chair when there is a mad scramble.

Everyone is aiming to be closest to her ear, but I’m not a fool.

The most powerful person in the room is not the heda, but their second, the one who has their trust, and decides what is worthy of their attention.

 

Octavia sees Lori from Trishanakru trying to take the seat and pauses, “Kane is sitting there.”

 

By the time Kane arrives, finishing a hushed conversation with Clarke, and smiles politely as he sits down, the ambassadors are glaring at me for having snagged the seat next to him.

 

“Alright,” Octavia sighs, “Who wants to go first?”

 

Clarke manages to sink back into the shadows, for the first time not forcing her way to the front of the room, to the front of the gathering to make her voice heard.

I wonder if she’s standing back because of fear, hope or exhaustion.                                     

Praimfaya had destroyed everything but pettiness and rivalry.

Tomkin kom Sangedakru stood accused of stealing blankets from Louwoda Kliron Kru and they were calling for his death by stoning.

In rapid trigedasleng, and I glance to Kane who is leaning sideways in his chair, his chin resting on his fist and no clear confusion in his eyes, but when he speaks, he does so in Gonasleng.

 

“The old ways of execution for minor crimes are done,” he declares, “We are one kru now and we don’t kill our own, not for this.”

The ambassador snarls at him, “What would our Osleya suggest then?”

“For stolen blankets?” Octavia exclaims in clear disbelief, “Give them _back!_ ”

 

I disguise my snort as a cough and her eyes meet mine, widening slightly to signify her disdain.

 

“And what of those who rose against you?” “the ambassador for Delfikru asks and Kane sits up then, straightening his shoulders, “There is going to be a trial process, first…”

 

I should be listening, but my head aches, my eyes hurt, and I am sure I can learn about this new trial process by watching it play out.

Unless I commit some crime against my new houmon, then I can experience it firsthand.

I hadn’t even realised that my eyes were closing until I hear Lori call for Wanheda.

 

“Always she is here!” Lori shouts, standing and waving his arm, “And wherever she walks, commanders fall and death follows, we should kill her and save us all.”

 

Tension thickens the air in the room until it is hard to breathe, and I scan the shillkru (guards), counting how many are skai-people and how many are grounders.

If it comes to a fight, everyone would lose.

Clarke steps out of the shadows and walks to the centre of the room, a calm expression on her face but her eyes are glowing with fire.

I’ve seen that look once before, when she tried to drown me in the river, not knowing that Azgeda trained their fiercest warriors to hold their breath for three hundred seconds.

These are the eyes of the woman who burned three hundred warriors alive, who brought down the mountain and killed the City of Light.

Beside me, Kane looks ready to argue for his wife’s child, but I reach over and put my hand on his arm.

I have never known Wanheda to walk into any situation that she could not talk her way out of and I wait patiently as she lifts her chin, exposing her vulnerable neck in challenge.

 

“If you want to kill me, you can put me on trial. I submit to Osleya’s rule,” she nods to Octavia, whose eyes have narrowed as she considers the scene before her, “Otherwise, if anyone comes looking to harm me, I will defend myself.”

 

A few people in the room scoff at the idea of the woman in front of them defending herself in battle, apparently, it’s even ridiculous enough that the Trikru ambassador deems me worthy of conversing.

 

“I have seen her handle a sword,” he tells me, “She is no fighter.”

“Sha (Yes),” I disagree, “She is.”

“Lexa kom Trikru sent six warriors from Polis to capture Wanheda,” I continue, “I was the only one who returned alive.”

 

And it wasn’t until her best hunter was found in a shallow grave with her eyes gouged from their sockets that she had risked sending me.

Perhaps she can not handle a sword or a bow, but she certainly knows the taste of death and the feel of it in her hands.

 

“Wanheda serves me,” Octavia announces, “If she obeys the laws of Wonkru, then she shall live as Wonkru, the same as everyone else. She is not our enemy.”

 

Today.

When no one challenges Octavia, I sit back and try to concentrate on the rest of the meeting, more calls for punishment, more talk from Kane about trials and justice.

We will have peace and order until we don’t.

There’s a subtle throat clearing that I think signifies the end of the meeting until I see cups being distributed.

I sniff at the poison Skai-kru drank to disorient themselves for pleasure and wince. I was already in enough pain but if this was the only injury my new houmon had planned for me, my people could rest easy.

Indra kom Trikru glares at me with a burning loathing but raises the cup,

 

“To our hedas hukop,” she manages to declare without choking on the words, “May it be a happy one.”

 

Across from me, Lori raises his eyebrows, his eyes flickering to me and then to his cup.

The traditional toast called for a ‘long and happy’ marriage.

Octavia throws back the drink, swallowing it neatly while the rest of us gagged and choked.

Beside me, Kane’s cup stood empty and dry, having never been filled.

* * *

 

We disperse after the meeting, Octavia going to her office, closing the door and my dignity would not permit me to beg entrance to her presence.

Wanheda moves to my elbow, waiting until the rotunda is empty before speaking,

 

“Are we at risk of war?” she asks.

“Always.” I answer drily, truthfully and she nods, crossing her arms around her stomach in a move strangely vulnerable and youthful.

 

I feel as though I am intruding in a space where Bellamy Blake should be standing, witnessing the woman Clarke Griffin was when the world wasn’t calling for Wanheda.

 

“Be careful,” I entreat, before I can even register my words and I hasten to pull them back,  

“If you die now…Skai-kru will suffer.”

 

She nods, a snort of derision and walks away.

Alone.

Although still a bit more to the left than necessary, as if still getting used to not having Bellamy flank her right.

* * *

 

Octavia has her own shower and if I run only the cold water, and if I close my eyes, I can pretend I am under a weak waterfall on the very edge of Azgeda lands.

Where the water was never cold enough, never bracing enough but still a part of my home.

My people used old blankets, old rags that had no more warmth left in them to dry our bodies. On Becca Praimhedas island I had learned the luxury of towels and had taken two with me, justifying the crime to myself in the belief that the world was ending and that it would not matter where these things were when everything burned.

Now I told myself that after everything Skai-kru had done to me and mine, they could suffer the loss of two towels.

If they had even noticed they were gone.

The bunker is not cold enough for me to risk illness if I do not dry myself hurriedly, so I allow the water to drip from my hair, running down my chest and back, leaving my footprints on the metal beneath me. I had left my nightclothes on the bed and when I open the door, they are thrown at my face with as much force as can be placed behind cloth.

 

“The last thing I want to see is you naked.” My houmon tells me, and I pull the shirt off my head to observe my new bride already changed and under the bedcovers, a pillow marking our two territories.

 

In a show of goodwill, I change quickly, but still the lights are turned off and I am left to find my way to the bed in the sudden darkness.

I feel for the blankets and lie down on my back, rolling my shoulders and staring up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but metal and still part of me is unable to grow used to it.

Beside me, Octavia squirms and shifts position, a slight but somehow imposing presence I do not know what to do with.

 

“Touch me and I’ll slit your throat.” She warns, her voice firm and loud in the claustrophobic room.

 

She is a fierce warrior, a survivor, but she is also a small woman in an enclosed space, and we are barely more than strangers.

That threat endears her to me, I have no doubt that if I grabbed for her now, she would pull a dagger from somewhere and drive it right into my neck.

I wonder who would come running if one of us shouted?

I knew one of my people would be sleeping in the halls, I suspected Indra or someone she trusted implicitly would be close by.

If this had been my bedchamber in the Commander’s tower, Bellamy would probably have made his bed on the floor.

We fall into a silence, both of us staring up and breathing as quietly as possible to give the illusion of a sleep that does not come.

One of us would have to try and broach the distance between us.

Neither of us had much experience with long-lasting peace treaties.

 

“Tell me about life in the stars,” I suggest, still petty enough to feel the thrill of satisfaction when she stills in clear confusion.

“Why?” she demands, even now expecting some trap.

 

As if the stars held secrets that could be useful when we were imprisoned underground.

 

“From a distance,” I murmur, “They are beautiful.”

I hear her snort, “So’s a battlefield in the right light.”

 

She huffs and goes silent, rolling onto her side, her back to me and her shoulders tense when she realises that she’s leaving herself vulnerable, and she adjusts, rolling onto her left side so that she could protect her vital organs if I attacked her. I can only just make out her eyes but she’s deliberately not looking at me.  

 

“I only saw the Earth once from above,” her voice is low, barely audible and it takes me a moment to realise she is speaking,

“It was the best and worst night of my life on the Ark. I saw the Earth, I saw the stars and I saw life, and then it was all taken away from me.”

 

Her words taste of a loss and grief I knew well. A grief you could never overcome because to do so, you would have to allow yourself to experience it completely.

And there was no time.

There was never any time.

 

“In wintam (winter),” I begin, trying both our languages on my tongue to try and find the most descriptive yet feeling like I needed more to give my thoughts justice.

“Most of Azgeda is covered in snow, entire plains, lakes that would take half a day to cross, even in summer are completely frozen and can’t be broken, even with an axe. Everything around you is still and silent and…there is a scent to snow, to wintam that you can’t describe to anybody who has never experienced it. If you walk out of the villages, to a field and camp overnight, at sunrise, the entire snow-covered world around you turns pink and gold. I saw this every winter and never grew tired of it, and then one day, a heda I had never wronged or even met, ordered my mother to banish me. I never saw an Azgedan winter again.”

I close my eyes, weary beyond belief and I hear her shift her legs, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because even with the world ending, our peoples could not stop warring with each other, Praimfaya destroyed everything I have ever known and yet I live on…”

When so many of my people, people I was born to protect and serve, had died.

“I don’t care who rules as heda, I don’t care whose laws we uphold, whose traditions we follow, as long as I can keep Az-kru alive, that is all I want.”

I sense her annoyance even before she speaks.

“There is no more Azgeda,” she snaps, “There is no more Trikru or Skai-kru, there is only Wonkru, one people.”

“My people,” she adds, softer now, “And I protect my own.”

After a moment, she rolls over, turning her back to me and I note the progress we’ve made.

 


	21. Octavia kom Ogeda

_Octavia kom Wonkru_

 

We wake up within seconds of each other, the automatic lighting throwing my tiny room into harsh relief and for a moment, we share a look of shared appreciation that we both lived through the night.

It would be funny if we were enemies and not married.

My head hurts and my eyelids are heavy from exhaustion. Neither of us had fallen asleep until a few hours ago.

I’d never realised how quiet a sleeper Lincoln had been until…

Illiyan had tossed and turned throughout the night and Roan…his heavy breathing annoyed me, I had to hope that it was a temporary thing, some part of the healing process.

With a sigh, I start pushing myself into a sitting position, stretching my legs and I’m almost up when the door suddenly slides open and someone bursts into the room.

Roan has an arm across my chest as I reach back for the dagger I know Indra had stashed behind my bed before I note the person’s jacket and messy hair, then I’m reaching for the blankets as a layer of modesty over my sleep shirt.

  
“Bellamy,” I snap, “Get _out!_ ”

  
My brother runs his eyes over me, clearly looking for signs of injury or abuse and I relent even as I’m pissed off at his intrusion into my space.

  
“Indra sent me to get you,” he says, like a liar, “There’s an issue on C-deck, she’s down there now.”

“Really?” Roan deadpans, climbing out of bed and inching to the door,

“So…Indra is not outside in the hallway as I speak these words?”

  
I would stake my brother’s life that Indra wasn’t even six feet away from us right now, but my brother manages to stand his ground,   
  
“Are you calling your houmon and heda’s brother a liar?”

“Of course not,” Roan answers, his voice so heavy with sarcasm that his words are bouncing on the floor. “I am sure that Indra is on C-deck and that is not her I hear pacing just outside.”

  
My brother blinks but otherwise, doesn’t give himself away and I find myself wondering if I’m the reason he learnt to lie so well, all those years pretending that he was an only child.

Or perhaps his time with Clarke.

  
“Give us a minute,” I say and then see the confusion in both their eyes as they try to figure out which one I’m dismissing. “We need to get dressed, big brother.”

  
Bellamy nods but still hesitates until I swing my legs out of bed, at which point he goes outside, presumably to tell Indra that I’m fine.

Roan and I share another look, this time one of sardonic amusement before I remember that we both needed to get dressed.

And I was used to being partially naked while changing with strangers, after the first week or so, when it became a hassle to change in my tent, I had often finished dressing right outside, with either my brother’s flunkies or Monty keeping an eye out for any perverts.

When I had been marching with the coalition army, once Lincoln and my brother had gone to the mountain I had slept with the other seconds and there had been a few comments at first, a few people looking at the Skai-girl who had turned a Trikru warrior into a natrona, wanting to see what all the fuss was about, but Indra’s protection had taught them to look away.

Roan probably has as much experience as me changing in front of strangers, but it’s different after a ceremony has made you husband and wife.

  
I jerk my chin at the bathroom, “You can change in there,” I tell him, “I still don’t want to see you naked.”

  
He gives a sniff of derision and limps into the bathroom.

  
“I was going to anyway.”

  
Sure.

* * *

 

Whatever issue may or may not have been occurring on C-Deck is magically resolved by the time I’m dressed and, in the hallway, facing Indra who doesn’t even bother to try and back my brother’s lie.

Behind me, Roan snorts and beckons over one of his men who’d stood guard in the hall last night, speaking to him quietly.

Indra glares at him but leaves it at that,

  
“The hukop did not bring immediate and lasting peace,” she begins, “There were incidents last night, small fights, murmurs of dissent…”

“Sounds like an average evening,” Roan interjects behind me, “If we were in Polis or camp, it wouldn’t even be worth mentioning.”

“If this were Polis or a camp, people could walk off their anger,” she argues, “Down here, there is nowhere for them to go. They are trapped.”

  
No, they’re not.

I’ve _been_ trapped.

Under the floor, with people standing above my head, heavy boots and loud voices, threats and danger.

There’s miles and miles of bunker for Wonkru to move about in, and they have the nerve to say that they’re _trapped?!_

I find myself looking at my brother, at my beloved jailer and he must see the spark of anger in my eyes,

  
“Problem is,” he begins hastily, stepping forward, his hands held at his waist in preparation, approaching me like he would a strange animal, “People are bored.”

  
Bored?

  
“How?!” I snap, “We’ve barely had time to eat and sleep in the same twenty-four-hour cycle, how are they bored?”

“We have not,” Roan echoes, from behind me, “But those not in command have been left with little to do.”

“He is…not wrong,” Indra manages to spit, “We are training new guards, but those who are not soldiers or warriors have too much free time.”

  
Too much free time?

  
“So what?!” I demand, “It’s not enough that I saved their lives, now I have to order them about every second of the damn day? No, screw them all, if those idiots can’t keep themselves occupied between meals, that’s not my problem.”

“It becomes your problem when boredom turns into discontent and rebellion,” Roan mutters, “They need to be distracted or kept busy.”

“Bread and circuses, O.” Bellamy says, and I roll my eyes,

“Fine, lets build an arena and have people fight to the death in it.” I suggest deadpan.

  
My brother gets the reference, but Roan’s eyes go wide and Indra pales,

  
“That…was not what I meant.” she stammers, studying me with concern and I shrug,

“Well, it worked for the Emperors of Ancient Rome.”

  
I begin walking away, letting the joke carry on a bit too long, relishing in their panic as they try to figure out whether I’m serious or not. At worst, I assume my brother will fill them in.

* * *

 

I know the very second I’m out of my brother’s line of sight and earshot because Clarke comes out of nowhere, catching my arm and startling me.

  
“Are you using the air vents to get around now?” I ask, half-serious and half-curious if that’d be a way for me to avoid boring meetings.

  
She blinks and looks past me, obviously trying to reckon the likelihood of my brother following me and judging that the odds weren’t in her favour.

Clarke Griffin had some of the best and worst luck out of all of us on the ground.

  
“I need to speak to you,” she explains, trying to steer me into a room and I let her because I know she and my brother had a massive falling out, I know it’s affecting both of them, but even separated they can still function well enough, but only if their relationship doesn’t get any worse and I’m pretty sure that having seen me in bed with Azgeda’s king won’t have put my brother in a forgiving mood today.

She drags me into a storage room that is empty only because we had filled this bunker with the possessions we could carry on our backs and now kept them beside us or tucked under our beds, eager to protect these reminders of our lives before Praimfaya.

Murphy is in the room, with his girlfriend whom I’ve never been introduced to. I know she’s a freikdreina, but even then, she must be desperate to consider Murphy a viable option for a niron (lover).

They seem to be as surprised as I am by this meeting and we share a moment of apprehension, wondering what Clarke could possibly have in mind.

I can’t ever allow myself to forget that she is the same person who let a bomb drop on Ton DC and would have left me to burn in Praimfaya.

She’s fighting for me today, but who knows who will have her loyalty tomorrow.

She looks between us, making sure she has our attention before speaking,

  
“I want to have Murphy trained as a fleimkipa,” she announces, “With your blessing.” She adds, nodding to me and I guess this is another thing I have control over.

  
My only knowledge of fleimkipas comes from Gaia, but her skills as a warrior and the fact that she’s Indra’s daughter aside, I haven’t been impressed.

All they cared about was the flame and nightbloods, and if one was born in the bunker? They’d no doubt expect me to step aside or die.

And Clarke wanted to add to their number?  

  
“I would ask if you’ve gone insane, but I’m not that lucky,” I sigh, “So…talk.”

She nods, she’s prepared for this, “We need to convince Azgeda that it wasn’t a mistake trading the lives of their people for ours. They believe in the flame, Roan cares about tradition and since Titus and Ontari, the only fleimkipa left is Gaia. If they adopt Murphy and he becomes a fleimkipa, it will be an honour for their people.”

“ _My_ people,” I snap, “There is only Ogeda now.”

  
She bites the inside of her cheek but doesn’t point out what I already know, that if Ogeda had been successful, if my declaration had been enough, I wouldn’t have had to marry Azgeda’s king.

And Murphy wouldn’t have to become Azgeda.

  
“Why now?” he asks, glancing to the freikdreina who has yet to speak, “You can’t just stick me in the robes and call me a fleimkipa, it’ll take months maybe even years for me to complete the training.”

  
I had never even had the opportunity to complete my training with Indra.

  
“Because of the branding.”

  
I don’t even register the freikdreina has spoken until Clarke glances away in shame. She’s glaring furiously at her with an outrage I’ve felt a few times myself.

  
“Abby and Jackson have me doing inventory, Clarke,” she seethes, “I know what our supplies are. You want Murphy to join Azgeda now because you’re worried we’ll run out of pain killers if we brand him later.”

  
I remember the pain of my tattoo, the agony of the wounds I’d sustained in battle, but I could barely recall the time Lincoln had cauterized my wound.

How much would it hurt?

  
“This will protect Emori,” Clarke says, turning to Murphy, “Fleimkipas command respect, they have power in Grounder culture, no-one would be willing to harm her if it meant crossing you.”

  
Something in his eyes dies and rots as he considers her words, “Fine,” he snaps, like the jaws of a pauna (panther), “But it’ll be over my dead body that you pick the brands.”

  
She owed him that at least.

Physical pain doesn’t compare to the realisation that Clarke Griffin was willing to betray or manipulate you to achieve her own ends.

  
“He becomes a fleimkipa, he’ll have a place on my council,” I allow, “Anything goes wrong, it’s on you.”

  
I go to leave but catch a glimpse of the freikdreina’s hand and it triggers a fragment of memory.

Lincoln telling me that he’d used to trade herbs and meat to the freikdreinas that passed through the edge of Trikru territory in return for the journals they brought him for his art.

I stride over and hold out my hand, “Octavia.”

She glances down but accepts the Skai-kru greeting, giving me a firm shake, “Emori.”

* * *

 

Roan is waiting for me as I leave the room and I glance down the corridor, “My brother?”

“There’s a chance he wasn’t lying about…C-deck,” he pauses over the strange word, “I sent him down there.”

  
I hear a footfall behind me and I know that it’s Clarke. My houmon looks over my shoulder and nods to her before I hear her moving away.

  
“Shall we eat?” he asks, and I shrug, taking four steps before remembering that he can’t walk as quickly as he used to.

  
I hesitate, because Indra gets so angry when I tried to accommodate her injuries and Raven could either be thankful or abusive depending on the day. Glancing down, I pretend to fix something on my belt until he reaches me and then adjust my pace for him.

  
“I want to speak to your people,” he tells me, “The hundred.”

I blink in surprise, I hadn’t even known he knew what the hundred were.

  
“More like the ten now,” I mutter under my breath, “Why?”

He sighs, “It’s a long story, I’ll explain later.”

 


End file.
